


Not by Birth

by AuroraRebellion



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: ....except. its more like?, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, CT-7567 | Rex Needs a Nap, CT-7567 | Rex's horrible no good very bad... multiple days., Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Corruption to the Dark Side, Force-Sensitive CT-7565 | Rex, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Planet Mortis (Star Wars), Seduction to the Dark Side, Temporary Character Death, The Dark Side of the Force (Star Wars), its gonna be ok i promise, ok so im using the tags mainly as warnings. it makes this seem like a darkfic when it's. really not?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraRebellion/pseuds/AuroraRebellion
Summary: There's an ancient distress call, and Skywalker goes to investigate with Kenobi and Tano. Rex, just trying to do his job, did not sign up for crash landing on a planet where giant rocks float overhead and the plants all die at night.He'd really like to go back to somewhere normal, where he's not the only Force-null on the whole damn planet.(...But this one, they're intriguing- unlike Father's Chosen One, they do not hold the power He and His Sister wield...)-Rex is on Mortis with the Jedi. Things don't go in his favor, but they rarely do when the Force is involved.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 75
Kudos: 118





	1. Initial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jazz hands] this is a note I added later, but! I point to my tags for a moment; this fic has No romantic relationships, and I'm gonna stick by that. There are no ships that I'm building towards in this. <3  
> With that disclaimer out of the way, please enjoy!

“Sir, we’re _at_ the rendezvous point,” Rex says- he does _not_ sigh, though it’s very very tempting at this point. “We’ve been here for an hour. There’s no sign of you- and the diagnostic on our scanners came back clear. Again. Are you sure your navigation system isn’t experiencing some malfunction?”

“I’m sure,” Anakin replies, “ _I’ve_ run a diagnostic on the nav system _thrice_. All clear. There must be some… some uncharted celestial… “ he grimaces, flicking through a few different system checks and settings as he fumbles. “Phenomena? Something or other…”

“Copy that, sir.” _Phenomena._ Rex glances at the softshell beside him and they share an eyeroll the Generals are unable to see. He’d lay down his life for these Jedi, even if they weren’t Jedi, but that doesn’t mean they’re not a little insufferable sometimes. “If you’ll stay put, I’ll take a shuttle and come out to retrieve you.”

“To retrieve us? Rex- we don’t need a _tow service,_ we need to figure out what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong might just be that ‘celestial phenomenon’ you were talking about, sir, and if you crash your ship while we can’t see you, you’ll be left for dead in Wild space. Sit tight. I’ll reestablish comms when I’m out of the hangar.”

Anakin opens his mouth to protest, but Obi-Wan interjects: “Much appreciated, Rex. Thank you. We’ll stay where we are for now.”

“Very good, sirs. Over and out.”

The comm line clicks off. Ahsoka groans and sprawls out in her seat while Anakin turns to shoot Obi-Wan a scandalized look. “We don’t need to wait! I’m a good enough pilot, I can handle anything out here. We’re just... wasting our time.”

“Rex _has_ a point, Anakin,” Obi-Wan returns. “If we run into trouble out here, we are completely on our own. _I_ for one have no intention of perishing in the cold, dark vacuum of space…”

“You could have a little faith in Anakin’s skills, Master,” Ahsoka quips. Obi-Wan sighs.

“It’s not that I don’t have faith;” he turns in his seat, to properly face Anakin, “I _know_ you are an excellent pilot, Anakin. There is no doubt in my mind of that. My concern is what may happen if we are taken by surprise.”

The two other Jedi accept the reply with varying levels of reluctance and grumbling. Ahsoka slumps down further from a proper sitting position. Anakin sighs and sets the ship’s system to run more diagnostics.

The comm chirps and crackles, then Rex’s voice comes through again;

“In a ship and coming to find you, sirs. Have you held position?”

“To the centimeter, Rex,” Anakin replies. “We’re here. Still no sign of us?”

“Sir, if you can’t see me, I probably can’t see you. Beginning search.”

Anakin leans back in his seat, making it creak. Ahsoka is dangerously close to slipping off her chair and landing simply on the floor. Obi-Wan rolls his eyes at it all.

Silence, only broken by the vague occasional click or shuffle of something or other as Rex sweeps through space looking for the Jedi.

...And, he’s really not finding _anything._ It’s strange. Is it possible there’s something scrambling his navigational system and scanners? His location has remained largely unchanged on his console’s readout, even though Rex knows the cruiser is farther away than it was when he started. Maybe if he just heads in a straight line- and there’s a weird pull on the controls, too, like the ship wants to pull up. Feels like magnetic repulsion.

But there- _aha._

“Found you, sirs!” He exclaims. “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll get you in the grav-tow, and we’ll go back to the ship.”

“Can you see the cruiser?” Ahsoka asks. He hesitates, looking back out the viewport. Darkness.

“Uh, no sir.” He’s got a bad feeling about that. “But I know where it is, and how long it’ll take to fly back. Only a minute or two. I think there’s some form of… electromagnetic disturbance here. Messes with our scanners, the nav systems, _and_ creates some field that’s black to the naked eye.”

“Wild space,” Anakin groans. Rex nods.

“Wild space,” he agrees.

He guides the shuttle down, and gets the General’s ship hooked up to be towed. All is normal. Moving again is normal. But soon that push is back, stronger, and he wrestles the controls against it. Then the ship shudders, and the _lights_ all go out. Rex jerks back in surprise, then tests various controls to see if any of the switches he flicks do anything. No such luck. He’s dead in space. No comms, no power, no life support- kicking the underside of the control board doesn’t help.

Anakin grimaces at his console, shaking the controls as if he can shake the ship back to life. Obi-Wan, trying to coax the power back on from his side, is murmuring softly to himself. Always comforting, when it begins with _oh, not good._ Ahsoka pushes herself back upright in her seat, leaning over to check the diagnostics near the back of the ship.

“The life support systems are offline,” she reports. “...Offline completely. What happened to our power?”

“It is _possible_ the magnetic field Rex speculated about has interacted poorly with the gravity tether,” Obi-Wan speculates. “And thus has overloaded the ship. If so, we can trust Rex. He won’t leave us here.”

“Unless _his_ ship died too. Are we stuck here?”

(Rex switches on emergency power. No luck. Changing angle of the thrusters? No, he’s in _space,_ that only works when there’s an atmosphere to drag against. What the _kark_ is going on here.)

“It’s a possibility. However…”

The ship shudders, and the power comes whining back online. Obi-Wan makes a small, pleased noise.

“See? Nothing to worry about.”

The ship shudders again. The commlink is crackling, buzzing with static. Rex’s voice comes through, but it sounds mostly like a lot of swears in various languages.

“Rex?” Anakin calls, fiddling with the frequency. The static lessens slightly. “Rex, come in. What’s wrong?”

“Caught in something’s pull, sir!” Rex replies. “Can’t shake free. I’m trying to detach the grav-tether, but-” a _thud_ , likely from Rex banging his fist on something- “Nothing’s kriffing working. Can you pull free?”

A test of the controls reveals no, they can’t.

“Negative. What is it?”

“I have no- _oh come_ on, _what the hells--_ ”

“What?”

“I can see what’s got us caught, sir!” There’s a few too many warnings blaring on his control board right now. Rex ignores all of them and kicks at the underbelly of the console again. “Can you not see it?”

Anakin looks up-

Oh. Big prism. Giant, black prism, that’s turning as they get closer. The ship’s shuddering is more consistent and violent now.

“What _is_ that?!” Ahsoka cries, and honestly? Rex is inclined to echo the sentiment. He has _no_ idea what this is, only that it’s opening up and the light from inside is blinding, and that he’s quickly losing control of the entire ship. Shab. Whole thing’s getting more and more karked by the second.

When they start dipping down into the light, there’s a vague pressure at his temples like when a Jedi is really trying to tell what he’s thinking, or feeling. It grows, becomes more insistent, and he spares a moment to fortify his mental shields because he does _not_ need someone reading his mind right now…

The pressure increases, crests like a wave, and the impact of- of _everything_ knocks him out like a high-speed collision with a durasteel _wall._

-

Anakin comes to gradually, aware of every numb and aching part of his body. He’s slumped over the ship’s console, there’s a switch digging into his cheekbone, a button against the side of his forehead, his shoulder is sore and his legs are numb- his _butt_ is numb, which is annoying--

When he opens his eyes, it’s just a little brighter than it has any right being while he’s still waking up. They’re in the ship, which seems to be in one pristine piece, and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are waking up just like he did; Obi-Wan, quietly, giving barely more than a hum as he rubs his eyes, and Ahsoka with a loud yawn and a stretch of her arms over her head.

It’s green outside. They’re overlooking a cliff. And the Force feels strange here- _strong,_ knocking insistently at his mental shields. Everything’s a buzz, a blur around him, and the only certainty in the Force is Obi-Wan and Ahsoka in this ship.

“Did you set the ship down?” Ahsoka asks. Anakin shakes his head.

“No, I… I must have blacked out. Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan, blinking hard at the world beyond the viewport, focuses back on the inside of the ship. “I know _I_ certainly didn’t land the shuttle. And that raises the question…”

“Who did?” Anakin finishes.

“Musta been Rex,” Ahsoka muses. She turns, flicks on the life support scanners and waits a moment. “...Well, readings indicate an organic mass, bigger than an asteroid, and the atmosphere is breathable…”

“Finding Rex’s ship will be easier from the air,” Anakin says. He flicks a switch, engages the engines-

...Flicks a few more switches, adjusts a lever, starts the takeoff sequence-

Nothing. And to his right, the console is beeping unhappily as Obi-Wan attempts to coax it into doing something.

“This is… highly unusual, and growing more so by the minute,” Obi-Wan sighs. “I can’t lock down where in the galaxy we are.” A glance towards Anakin, “And I take it the ship won’t start?”

“No. Nothing’s _wrong,_ it just…” a final try at it. Still unresponsive. “...Won’t power up.”

“We might have to hitch a ride with Rex,” Ahsoka says. “Where’s his ship?”

“Can’t see it.”

“We couldn’t see whatever it was that pulled us in, either,” she hums. “Not ‘til we were too close.”

“It must have been a cloaking device,” Obi-Wan says. “It might be safe to assume this planetoid is hidden for a _reason._ We must be careful.” He reaches over and switches on the ship’s comm relay. “Rex? Captain Rex, come in, please.”

Nothing but static. Obi-Wan frowns.

“We need to go find him on foot, then,” Ahsoka concludes, and is out of her seat and halfway out the ship before she’s done speaking. Anakin follows, with Obi-Wan bringing up the rear.

“Ahsoka,” Anakin calls, “I’m worried too, but be careful. If we stumble into something and find trouble, we might not be able to help if Rex needs us.”

“How can we know he needs us unless we find him?”

“We’ll find him. Just… take it slow. We’re right behind you.”

She sighs, and obediently (if impatiently) slows her steps so she’s no longer speeding away like she was.

The grass is green as Naboo’s, here, and the plain they’re overlooking stretches on near as far as the eye can see. No sign of Rex’s ship, no sign of a crash. The air itself feels strange, still as if _waiting_ for something.

He doesn’t like it.

Obi-Wan, who must have grabbed a pair of scopes on his way out of the ship, is scanning the surrounding area. Ahsoka stands straighter at his side, stepping forward to point at something; “There, up there on that hill. I think I saw a reflection. It might be Rex’s ship.”

“I don’t see anything,” Obi-Wan replies. “If we are truly so far apart from one another… my question would be-”

“ _Are you the One?_ ”

Anakin jerks, blinking. That wasn’t the question Obi-Wan asked, that was something else’s voice.

“...Did you hear that?” He asks. Obi-Wan doesn’t look away from his second sweep of the area.

“No, I didn’t hear anything.”

“Me neither,” Ahsoka says. “What did it sound like?”

“It was a voice. And it was asking-”

It interrupts again, repeating, “ _Are you the One?”_ And this time Obi-Wan and Ahsoka both jolt. They must have heard it. They all turn towards the voice.

The speaker is _tall_ , dressed in whites and golds, and has long, wild green hair that floats down their back. Most notably, above everything else? They’re literally _glowing._ Giving off light.

“ _Hel_ -lo _,_ ” Obi-Wan hums, which is Obi-Wan for _where did you come from_ , and Anakin outright asks a question;

“Who are you?”

“I am Daughter,” the person replies, raising a hand to rest it just below her collarbone. Her lips barely move as she speaks, and when she blinks it’s slow and owlish. “Are you the One?”

Anakin, still utterly lost (and the Force is stagnant here, too hot and bright without any movement to make it bearable), can only manage, “The one _what?_ ”

“I will take you to Him,” the daughter of something-or-other says, instead of giving a sensible answer. Maybe she’s a protocol droid with a weird amount of effort put into making her look like a real organic being- no, no she has a Force presence, blindingly bright. She’s very real.

“Who’s him?” Ahsoka asks. “Do you know where Rex is?”

The woman turns, a slight furrow in her brow the only real shift in her expression.

“...No. I do not.”

“Are you the one who brought us here?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Only He can help you,” is the response, and it’s like she’s _dedicated_ to not giving any answers. It’s hard to trust her at all, when she’s impossible to read both physically and in the Force. She’s light without any real emotion. Just… pure light. No emotion, no ignorance, but not any _peace_ there either. There isn’t anything there to _be_ peaceful. “There is little time. Follow Me.”

If it’s a form of shielding, it’s really kriffing unnerving.

She starts walking, like she expects them to follow, and Obi-Wan puts a hand on Anakin’s shoulder as he passes by to do so: “She must be a local. We’ll get farther if we work with her rather than against her.”

“But _Rex,_ ” Ahsoka insists. “What about Rex?”

“We’ll likely be led to whatever civilization there is here, and they might know something about a second ship. It’s a better lead than we had a few moments ago.”

“I don’t trust her,” Anakin murmurs. Obi-Wan nods.

“Don’t be rude, but be wary. Play along until we know more.”

They follow.

(And at first impression, Anakin had thought the _planet_ was strange, but it turns out that’s not even saying anything of the _locals.)_

-

...What the _kriff._

His brains have been replaced with rocks, or something, Rex thinks. Something heavy that hurts where it’s pressing in behind his eyes. Hard to focus. Have to think, though- where is he? Anything hurt? Didn’t he crash?

_Didn’t he crash and take his Jedi down with him?_

The raw emotion that sweeps him up can best be expressed in a string of curses that he would never, ever repeat in anything but the most impolite company.

He’s upside down, in the shattered remains of his ship. Held up in the air by the same restraints that probably saved his life in the crash- and are now helping all the blood in his body drain towards his upper extremities. Not good.

Step one: unbuckle the straps and get to the floor--

Step one- _aurek:_ Fall to the ground in a graceless, swearing heap of clone captain. Way to go, Rex. Really living up to the whispered fame of your template. Really showcasing the Republic credits that went into your creation, and displaying feats of Kaminoan-engineered prowess.

Whatever. Good thing he’s got his bucket on, or he could have cut himself on something. He needs to get out of the wreck.

Carefully picking his way through the wreckage (and this isn’t looking good, it isn't _salvageable_ ), he finds himself standing in the middle of a place that looks utterly uninhabited. Tall trees and raggedy looking bushes, grass about mid-shin in height...

The grass is overly green. Naboo _and then some_ sort of green. And the trees, they look as if they’ve been painted over, had some form of graphics wrap put around them to cover whatever the bark was originally. It’s… unsettling.

The pressure at his temples is there again. Subtle, but there. Great. What’s taking an interest in him out here? He reinforces the wall around his mind as best as he can while devoting some of his attention to visually scanning the surrounding area. He’d really like to remain unnoticed, unremarkable… hard for a non-Jedi, but easier for a clone than a natborn, he hears. Something about the mindset they’ve grown up with.

Well. _His_ ship crashed, low down on some plain, but… there’s no sign of Skywalker, Tano, or Kenobi. Not their ship, not them, no wreckage of any sort to imply they bounced.

Maybe they got themselves free. He doesn’t consider himself especially _attuned_ to things like the Force, but he’s pretty sure the Force kriffing knocked him out on the way down. His head still hurts.

He should stick close to relative shelter. It comes and goes, but there’s still this crawling feeling of _not safe_ that creeps across the back of his neck too frequently for his liking. But is the ship really _safer?_ If he were searching for a target who crash-landed, his first move would be to investigate the sight. He’d investigate _any_ crash site, if it happened nearby to his position.

Best to move. Find cover elsewhere.

Nothing worth salvaging from the crash. He adjusts his armor, collects himself, and sets off along the deep gouge his ship carved when it crashed; if the Jedi crashed the same as he did, he'll find them somewhere behind where his ship stopped.

-

Comms are down, or damaged, or jammed, or _something,_ because nothing’s getting through. None of his attempts at contact have worked. Just static, each time, and that’s getting more and more worrying as the local hours slip by. The sun’s getting closer to the horizon, and there’s a whole lot of grey clouds creeping in. Looks like a storm.

Still nothing but static.

Could it be there’s nothing _to_ contact? The ship was destroyed, they’re all dead and he’s stranded here alone?

It’s possible. It’s _possible_ , but he has to stay calm and focused, because if the ship went down like that it’s more likely they’re injured, possibly trapped, and they’ll need his help.

The unresponsive comm channel drones fuzzily in his ears, quiet and unhelpful.

There’s no sign of another crash. There’s a mountain ahead, so it’s possible he’s going to need to do some mountain climbing… mountain climbing in the rain. Everyone will be so jealous of the lovely planet he got to spend some time on with his commanding officers. What an amazing way to pass the time.

To sweeten the deal, there’s a backdrop of yet more static through his internal speakers. And it’s annoying, absolutely, but he doesn’t want to risk missing something by closing the channel, so for now the static continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, new fic by me,,, I'm hoping to update weekly.  
> If you wanna yell at me about this fic (or any, really), feel free to shoot me a message on tumblr! I'm feelstown over there.


	2. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe... the real problem we should worry about... was the monster we encountered along the way. <3

They’ve been walking for- what, an hour? Two? This daughter of _something_ has led them over mountain trails, towards some destination that she won’t give any more information on. She’s been silent whenever Obi-Wan tries to ask a question.

“Have you noticed,” Obi-Wan begins, voice a conspiratorial whisper, “That the seasons change with the time of day?”

“And there are no animals,” Ahsoka adds.

“And you sense it.” There’s no need to clarify _it;_ the Force has been almost _annoying_ in how it crowds the air.

“Since the moment we woke up,” Anakin agrees. “The Force is- _strong_ here. Very strong.”

“Yes. An intersection unlike anything I have ever felt before. At the risk of repeating myself… be wary.”

Ahsoka hum-sighs, turning to look out over the plains within sight. “...I hope Rex is okay. He doesn’t have the Force like we do.”

“From a certain point of view, he may be in _less_ danger,” Obi-Wan points out. “After all; on a planet this strong in the Force, the predators are certainly attuned to it. They would likely seek _us_ out before hunting someone who does not have the Force.”

“I’m not sure _I’d_ be able to sense Rex if he was right next to me,” Anakin murmurs. “But I’d feel better if he were with us, either way.”

There’s silent agreement for that, at least. Anakin walks a little faster, moving closer to their guide.

“Excuse me? Excuse me- who are you taking us to?”

“The Father, of course.”

“ _Of course,_ ” Ahsoka echoes. Obi-Wan gives her a look, but doesn’t _scold_ her for the sarcasm, which means he probably shares the sentiment.

“And what exactly are _you?_ ” Anakin continues.

“We are the Ones who guard the power. We are the Middle, the Beginning, and the End.”

She walks on. Anakin grumbles over his shoulder, “Glad she cleared _that_ up for us.” Obi-Wan just hums, fidgeting with some slightly-askew part of his robes.

“Do you suppose the plural pronoun is a cultural thing, or is she perhaps referring to her family…?”

“It could be both, here,” Ahsoka reasons. Obi-Wan hums again, but Anakin huffs and shakes his head as he shrugs.

“I’m a little curious, sure, but I also don’t really _care._ I want to find Rex and leave.”

...The leaves are dying. They dry up and go brown with a crackle, and a handful of them part from their stems to fall through the still air. (All this time, and he hasn’t felt a single breeze or gust of wind- not even on a cliffside, even though cliffsides are usually _the_ windiest part of any terrain.)

A rumble-- _that’s_ not good. The Force shudders with a warning, and he springs into action with a cry of “ _Look out!_ ”-

They land hard, and the noise behind them takes a few moments to fade.

Anakin pushes himself up, coughing at the dust now filling the air. The daughter is pushing Herself off the ground, but when he reaches out to help, she jerks away with her eyebrows furrowed deep and a flash of her teeth behind her lips.

“It is forbidden for you to touch Me,” she hisses. Anakin steps back and holds up his hands. “Sorry. I was trying to save your life…” Her eyes flicker past him, to the landslide rubble now cutting off their path backwards, and her eyebrows go from ‘angry’ to ‘surprised’ and then maybe ‘concerned/worried.’

“That was the work of My Brother,” she says. “You are in grave danger.”

“ _I’m_ in danger?” He’s a Jedi-- one so powerful the Council is still scared of him sometimes-- and one of the top duelists. He has his lightsaber and the Force to defend himself with. “Hey, what about Obi-Wan and Ahsoka? And _Rex?_ My captain doesn’t have the Force like I do, and he’s alone out here.” She’s not looking at him. “Will your dad really be able to help?”

“Wait for Me.” _Another_ non-answer. “Do not leave this place.”

“ _Hey!_ ” He steps forward, reaching out as she starts walking away, “Wait!” She tells him to stay here, after saying he’s in danger, as if the place where he and She almost got _crushed by a landslide_ is safer than wherever she’s going...

He hates this place already. He wants to go back to open Wild space; pick up Rex and go back to their cruiser where life more or less makes _sense._

Whatever. Obi-Wan’s comming him. He needs to make sure Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are okay.

...After that? He’s going to find his way to wherever she was trying to lead him. Staying out on the cliffside with that storm on the horizon rolling in does _not_ sound pleasant.

-

The plants are dying.

Rex doesn’t know _why,_ but his HUD isn’t blaring warnings about a toxic environment and he can’t _see_ anything, so he can only hope it’s some… weird phenomena of this planet, something a select set of plants native to this place do.

He seals up his armor and engages all the atmospheric filters, just to be safe.

But that’s assuming whatever killed the plants won’t slip past the filters. _That’s_ happened before. And this time, if he catches some long-thought-extinct virus, there won’t be a last-minute save. What a morbid thought.

Well, nothing to be done for it. He marches past dried, brown, dead plants, and watches a piece of bark fall off a tree. ...And now that he really considers it? Of _course_ this planet, this planet where a _Jedi_ signal _older than the Republic_ originated from, is really kriffing weird. Of course the plants all wither around civilian sunset. Naturally, the air itself seems to tug at him, skittering over his armor as he walks. Might as well do that. It’s a Jedi _planet_ , there’s no reason it has to play nice and act so one Force-null clone can understand and rationalize it. Kenobi must _love_ this place.

He checks the comms again. Still static, no reply when he calls for one, so he shuts the channel off.

The grass crunches under his feet as he keeps marching on towards the mountain.

-

The wind howls, and sweeps by in a gust that nearly knocks him off his feet. Since when was there any wind here, let alone something strong enough to put him off-balance, and--

What the _hell._

The plants have turned to ash, and the winds carry the little bits along- the wind’s torn the _bark_ off the kriffing _trees,_ and as the clouds finally crowd out any of the sunlight still lingering at dusk, the trees are _glowing._ This is-

This isn’t _fine,_ or anything close, but kark him he’s going to have to live with it. He’s alone, it’s dark, the thunder is rumbling loudly enough his helmet’s audio pickups catch it reliably, and... there’s still nothing but static on the comms, he finds. He's alone out here.

...He’s _maybe_ alone. The feeling of being watched has clung to the back of his neck this whole time, and it’s only gotten worse as it gets darker. Is he being paranoid, or is there some threat he’s subconsciously picking up on; something he can sense, somehow, but can’t physically _see?_

Sensing something invisible sounds like a Jedi trait. He’s probably just paranoid. Probably.

He’ll find somewhere safe to wait out the storm, just to be safe. He’s tired anyways, it will be good to get off his feet and rest for a bit, and shelter should help with the feeling of being exposed…

Something moves among the skeletons of trees. Something _big,_ a dark shadow against low light. He jerks back and presses up against a luminescent tree, drawing a blaster and holding it close to his chest.

What is that? A predator? Did it see him, smell him, hear him, otherwise _sense_ him? He’s not a kriffing _Jedi,_ he can’t grasp or fight back against whatever shit this damn planet wants to throw at him, if it gets a lock on his damn _Force signature_ or something he’s helpless to stop it--

Ok. Stop it. Calm down.

Calm down- karking _breathe,_ soldier. Breathe. _Kriff_. So there’s some predator out there. Maybe it can feel you in the Force, because it might as well. What would you do if a Jedi was chasing you with the intent to kill you? Are Jedi immune to blaster bolts?

No. They’re not.

So this is just like any other planet where there are predators as big as a trooper. Not a reason to panic. Find a place with a single, small, defensible entrance. Set up camp. Anything tries to get in, it gets shot.

He can do that. The spot should ideally be not too far below ground level, just in case something decides to start flooding when the rain hits…

An alcove among tree roots, just like the one ahead, is certainly good enough for his purposes ( _and_ he can get a holo for Gree while settled down for the night, which is mundane but he knows Gree will want to know _everything_ about this place).

His chosen spot is a bit of a tight fit. His pauldron catches, then once he’s squeezed past the lack of further resistance sends him sprawling- ugh. He brushes dirt off of his visor, and resituates himself to sit comfortably. It’s just big enough that he could stand on his knees, if he had to and his viewfinder was down. The opening is difficult to fit through quickly, but it’s perfect if he has to press back and unload a blaster’s worth of charges into something big and decidedly murderous. Maybe he can even manage a nap, if it’s quiet enough…

Speaking of quiet, though, there’s a low-level noise in the background now. He turns and finds it’s raining. Perfect timing for that, given he’s hunkered down somewhere semi-sheltered right as the rain starts. Maybe it will be over soon, and he’ll use that as his reason for moving. Or he’ll just wait ‘til morning like he’d been contemplating.

Well. Wait ‘til the storm passes, wait until the sun is up again, either way he probably has a few hours to do nothing with. Might as well get a few holos of the glowing tree now.

-

...He’s not a photographer, frankly, that’s never been his skill, but he _can_ hold still and let his holorecorder get a long-exposure image.

That should be enough, he thinks, as his HUD informs him he can move again. With one way of passing the time used to its full extent, he settles back to maybe get some rest, in the light, dozing way of someone on solo watch-

Noise. Not rain. Wrong pattern, and it sounds like something heavy and flat stomping around over the barren ground.

It’s footsteps.

_Danger,_ screams every instinct and reflex built into him; _danger, get away._

Thing is, he can’t. So instead he blinks off his nightvision (it can be a beacon for some nocturnal creatures), and watches as shadows in the shape of claws go stalking by his hiding place. Then its weight seems to shift, and another part of it dips into view. A big head, long ears, glowing red eyes… it’s snuffling, as if searching for something, and it turns to look in his direction. A low growl as it parts its lips for jagged teeth to catch the faint light of the trees.

Rex freezes.

It’s seen him, surely. Next it’s going to try digging its way in, and he can only hope its hide isn’t too blaster-resistant for him to kill it-

It stands back up. It growls again and keeps walking. Did it not see him? Did it see him and deem him not worth the effort? A few moments pass before his racing mind swirls around into the fact that he hasn’t taken a single breath in too long.

What the kriff.

What the kriff? He’s not sleeping, not at all, not with _that_ prowling around.

...Breathe, Rex. Stop-- _stop it,_ just _stop-_ and breathe. Quietly.

There you go.

For whatever reason, it continued on its way without trying to take a bite out of him. He’s safe for now. Not sleeping-- karking _sithspit_ he won’t be doing that, can’t afford to be caught unawares-- but he can still rest, conserve his energy for when he’ll have to start towards the mountain again.

And while he’ll get holos of various plants and such for brothers who might be curious, he’s not getting a holo of _that_ for Gree.

Now that he’s aware that there is a very _real_ threat and he’s not just imagining it, watching the entrance is more of a pressing duty. He puts his back to the dirt ‘wall’ behind him, leaning back on relative safety, and unholsters one of his DCs to set it in his lap. Rain pounds against the ground outside, splatters and turns the first inch or so of dirt into mud. His alcove is probably going to be muddy within the hour, unfortunately, but mud is better than being out in the open. Lightning flashes, followed by a roar of thunder.

...Motion in his field of vision. A humanoid, and for one bright moment he thinks, _General Skywalker-_ but Skywalker doesn’t move like that, and surely Skywalker would be able to sense that he was here, and if it was Skywalker where are Kenobi and Tano? Why aren’t they talking?

So instead of his CO’s, it must be a native of this planet. Typically he plays ‘local or hostile’ with most places, but here… here on this planet, in the middle of the night in the middle of a rainstorm, knowing this person is walking about and only being able to assume they must _know_ about that beast on the prowl?

Hell, that beast might have been their _hunting animal._ Anything on this planet could easily be local _and_ hostile.

They’re already gone, having strode past without pausing. He takes his finger away from the trigger guard.

Thinking of General Skywalker, he wonders if things are better for them. He can only hope so. Any luck, they’ll reunite some time tomorrow…

(As long as he survives until then, of course.)

Movement again. He jerks his blaster up and holds, tracking the shadows as the same shape walks past once more, slower in pace. Just like before, they pass by without incident.

-

The rain's letting up. He was right about sitting in mud before the storm was done, too. At least there's no flooding.

There's been more people, though- or maybe the same person, but either way he's held his breath as someone passes by a total of four times now. There's no predictable pattern to the appearances, which means it's probably not a patrol…

And the obvious answer is, then, that they're searching for something. He can't shake the choking feeling that they're looking for _him_.

He keeps his breathing quiet and measured, and holds his blaster aimed at the entrance as clawed feet sweep by for the fifth time this night. This time, it's accompanied by a _growl_ like that creature made. Then a voice;

" _Of course, Father,_ " it hisses, and it _echoes_ , quiet at first but then ringing around his head loud like a droidpopper went off next to his ear, " _I will be ever obedient to You, for I have_ nothing ELSE _to do on this forsaken rock…_ "

Clearly it's sentient, since it's talking to itself. He stays still, and the thing quickly disappears from his line of sight.

-

The rain’s stopped, far as he can see and hear. The trees still drip occasionally, and thunder gently hums in the distance every few minutes, but it’s quiet.

It’s been twelve minutes since he last saw something pass by his hiding place. He’s been trying to count, find the intervals, but _if_ there’s a pattern, it’s yet to repeat.

Footsteps, again. The mud squishes slightly underfoot as the being passes, and the sigh they give echoes, grates in his ears like the static he gave up on listening to hours ago.

_Don’t move. Not safe._

The anxiety that caves in around him is probably irrational, likely some learned response that has no use here. But then again, ignoring his instincts can end in bad things more often than listening to them-

“ _I know you’re here,_ ” the voice murmurs. Same one. They’re looking for him.. “... _Somewhere…_ ” The footsteps slow. Stop. The owner, judging by how their lower half shifts, turns to face _him._

Oh. Oh, no. No, this is bad.

He’s holding his breath. That happened at some point, and now his lungs are beginning to burn from lack of air, but he doesn’t dare even exhale and inhale again, not when that ringing sense of _danger danger danger_ is still pulling at every aspect of his awareness. Don’t move. Hold position until the enemy passes. More likely to be caught while moving than discovered while holding utterly still in a half-decent spot out of the way.

...Right. Just a statue. Nothing to see here. He’s just another nondescript, unremarkable piece of life surrounded by mud and water and tree roots- the _tree_ is probably more interesting than he is, this is a weird kriffing planet…

_Don’t come closer, don’t come closer-_

They stop again. A deep, hissing sigh. Movement, which he follows with his eyes as they _finally_ walk _away._ Rex breathes out, slow and measured, then in, far more even and calm than his body would like. Again. And again, until his heart isn’t pounding and he doesn’t feel like his lungs are going to combust.

Kriff. It might be time to move, because that was too close. Moving is dangerous, but there’s no way he’ll get lucky twice.

So, he takes a few more minutes to get himself ready for the riskiest undertaking of the night, and then when he shoves his way out of his hiding spot, he scans the immediate area with his blaster in hand and the safety off.

Nothing; just dark plains and a bunch of wet, muddy trees. Not even any footsteps in the mud- and _that’s_ weird, but he’ll worry about that later. Probably some Force thing.

...There’s a light in the distance that he doesn’t recall seeing before. Some sort of crystal, glowing green over what might be a large sentient-made structure. Makes him think of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, and on this planet full of things like floating rocks and plants that turn to ash in the wind? Jedi-esque is probably a very good thing.

He hopes it is, at least. It would suck to be eaten after trekking the whole way there. It’s going to be another hour or so before he reaches the foot of the mountain, let alone making his way to the monastery(?) itself.

Well, he’s a clone. Clones and long, unpleasant marches go together like... Mandalorians and weapons, or something.

_Get going_ , soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, someone might be in danger.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos and commented already!!! Feedback is wonderful motivation for settling down and working on the upcoming chapters, and I appreciate all of it.


	3. Ground Zero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost there.  
> Naturally, this is where things go sideways yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funfact! I reworked this chapter's title, and I did it last night. It's cooler. Enjoy.

The sky’s getting lighter and the trees are dimming slightly. Ironic; it almost feels _darker_ now, even though technically it’s getting lighter in general. The trees did a lot more than he realized. Not that there’s many trees on his path up the mountain here…

He doesn’t like mountain climbing. He’s really not the biggest fan of heights, and if he falls here there won’t be anything to catch him, or anyone to help him if he breaks something in the landing. Not that he has a choice, when his choices are either ‘climb and possibly find the Jedi,’ or ‘stay here and possibly get eaten.’ He’ll take the extra physical work if it means he’s less likely to end up dead.

And he _can_ climb mountains. It’s just pulling up on random handholds for an indefinite amount of time and hoping you don’t fall and die. No big deal for a soldier genetically engineered to manage feats regular humans can’t do.

What a vacation he’s earned himself.

An hour in, the sun is beginning to peek over the horizon. He takes a break to rest a little, and eat a ration bar. It’s probably safer now that it’s light, after all, and he’s hungry. And tired. _And_ still alone, so there’s only so much he can do about those problems; he can eat to fix being hungry, but he’s not sleeping without someone to watch his back.

Ration bar eaten, he stuffs the wrapper in the appropriate pouch on his belt and gets back on his feet. Time to keep going. Again.

_Ugh._

-

Sun’s up. Still has a ways to climb, but sunrise is over. It was weird, way more greens than most blue-sky planets display.

He’s tired, slightly itchy because his blacks have taken a while to dry out from the mud (which his bracers are coated in, alongside most of his armor below mid-thigh), and his comms are _still_ down. He’s faltering in his fight to stave off the worry of _what if they’re dead._

If this planet is advanced enough to have long-range comms, his first goal is to contact the cruiser in orbit (not that he can _see_ the ship from the surface) and call in a search/evac team for the Jedi. They’ll find Kenobi, Skywalker, and Tano, and they can all leave.

Still static through his helmet. Just keep walking, one foot in front of the other-

Is there something behind him?

He keeps moving, but there’s that crawling feeling up the back of his neck again that’s accompanied every single pass of that humanoid from the night. It feels like the physical equivalent of a not-quite-audible whisper.

His hand brushes against his blaster as he walks, and he counts one, two, three…

He whirls. His blaster levels at the chest of a _tall_ humanoid, taller than Skywalker, but even though he never saw it above the knees he’s almost completely certain this is the one he’d hidden from. He’s alone without the slightest hope of backup, aiming his DC at a creature that’s _grinning_ at him, sharp teeth in a mouth too wide to fit naturally on an otherwise human-shaped face.

“You have been difficult to find,” the thing says, and its voice still _echoes,_ reverberating around in his head and his chest. His hunch about its identity was dead accurate ( _maybe don’t use the word_ dead _here, Captain_ )- “The ability to hide from Me, for any matter of time, is no small feat.”

They shift, taking a step closer. Rex tenses and rests his finger on the trigger. “I _have_ been looking. And now, I cannot help but notice… you wield no... _lightsaber_.” It says the word like something unfamiliar, foreign. “Was it damaged in the crash?”

The crash-

This thing has inspected the remains of his ship. Shit.

“I don’t have a lightsaber,” he says, slowly backing away. The thing follows, longer strides leading it to edge ever closer as he tries to get some distance. Each movement is smooth, gliding, and every raw survival instinct in Rex’s head is screaming _predator._ “I’m... not a Jedi.”

His head’s pounding. It feels like the reverb has physically shaken something out of place, and now his thoughts are rattling around loose in his brain.

“Not a Jedi,” it repeats. “How… curious.” The world itself is bearing down on him, sky crashing in and battering at his mind. It feels like Ventress on Teth, back when he was still too shiny to realize what was happening until it was too late. “What _are_ you, then?”

He fortifies his mental shields, shoves the intrusion _back,_ out, _out of his head_ , and tries to focus. “Maybe I want you to guess,” he manages. Stalling for time. Time to do what? He could shoot this thing while it’s distracted, but he’s not optimistic it will _work._

“Curious indeed.” It prowls ever closer, drifting slightly as if to circle him. He moves as well to keep his blaster trained carefully on its chest. “A… what do they call it… Darksider?” There’s red markings on its head, looking like blood used as warpaint. The lines deform slightly as it raises an eyebrow. “Or were you not raised within either’s teachings?”

“I’m not-” his head’s going to explode. With this pressure pounding at his temples, it will happen any minute now. “I’m not _any_ of those. I don’t have the Force.”

Wait.

Wait, no, he didn’t mean to just say that- _why_ would he ruin the cat-and-mouse game? If he’d kept playing at having a secret then at least he’d be buying himself time--

“You cannot use the Force,” the thing says, and its smile is stretching wider. “You should not _be_ here.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he chokes out, doing his best to sound snarky instead of scared. His heartbeat is drumming a frantic pattern of _leave leave leave_ against his breastplate. Danger is on the horizon, just like the sun was there a few hours ago.

The thing _laughs,_ a low rumbling chuckle that rocks through him like the shockwave of an explosion. It’s cold, somehow, even though _sounds_ shouldn’t have _physical_ _temperatures_. “I see now, why you were so difficult to find. You do not hold the power like the others who have come to this place.”

It would be easy to shoot it. One twitch of his finger.

He’s frozen.

“Don’t need the Force to put a hole through your chest,” he warns. It’s not a bluff, technically. “Whether I have it or not, a blaster bolt will kill just about anything.”

It just laughs again, sending ice cascading down his spine. “You may try. But you are without the power I hold.” It leans forward, and the breath he takes reflexively seems to shake him free; he finally pulls the trigger.

It misses.

It misses because the thing just _isn’t there_ anymore, it misses because the monster’s taken off, _wings_ unfurling from its arms and face splitting wider until it’s not at all humanlike anymore, and the gust of wind as it soars _close_ overhead sends him tumbling backwards and rolling.

It wheels as he struggles to his feet, and he’s not up yet before it slams down and-- there’s a whole lot of weight on his chest, _kark_ he can’t _breathe_ he can’t breathe and trying to get air back in his lungs is painful and useless and the thing’s got him pinned his blaster is stuck under its claw and it’s opening its mouth as it leans in--

...Huh.

That’s a lot of teeth. Rows and rows of very sharp teeth.

And, since his brain has run from ‘frantically overloaded’ right off the edge of the cliff into ‘hyperfocused on small details _,_ ’ he notes roughly three rows at first glance and wonders if there’ll be enough of him left to ID his body and declare him killed in action instead of missing or AWOL. It’ll probably spit the armor out once it’s digested what it can. Sounds about right-

It pauses?

Leans back. Closes its mouth.

The weight on his chest leaves and he sucks in a deep gasp of air, coughing as his body tries to figure out the appropriate amount of oxygen to have in his system. It’s been two seconds, things are rusty and out of practice.

The thing’s humanoid again, and it eyes him like he’s barely worth its time as it says in a low growl, “I have other business I am being summoned to.”

Then it leaps into the air again and flies off.

Huh! That happened. He’s… he needs a minute. Maybe five. Maybe more. Just- just a few moments to recalibrate after nearly dying. _Not_ passing out, but rather a moment spent recovering so he _doesn’t_ pass out when he stands up.

Even when he spends the maximum amount of time he feels he can safely spend on his back staring at the sky, he’s still shaking when he gets up and holsters his blaster again.

What the _hell._ What the hell, he almost died, that thing just-

No. It’s not the time to panic, or the time to process... _that._ He needs to keep moving.

-

Mountain climbing is officially his least favorite marching-adjacent method of getting somewhere

He’s on that uncomfortable edge of almost out of breath, and his hands and feet both ache, but the monastery is _right there_ and slowing down is a bad idea. Keep up the pace, soldier, don’t quit when the end’s in sight.

Just a little further. He can do this.

One good thing? The plants have decided to grow back as the sun hits them, unfolding into young green growths in a wave much like how they wilted. Feels a little safer in the daylight... It’s a small mercy on this weird planet, any glimpse of safety.

He wants to go _home_ already. Back to the barracks, get some sleep, get something to eat that isn’t a semi-stale ration bar… he’s especially looking forward to the bit where he sleeps in the barracks, blissfully unconcerned about things like monsters lurking on the surface of some Jedi planet.

He has to look up to see his goal. Almost there.

Naturally, this is where things go sideways yet again.

Rex hits the cliffside shoulder-first and looks towards the sky as shouting and _roaring_ fills the air. Two creatures; one with wings of feathers that seems to _glow_ in the sunlight, and… and the monster that he encountered earlier. They both seem to be carrying humanoids. The voice calling is-?

Oh.

That’s bad.

_Tano._ The monster has Tano. The monster has _Commander Tano,_ and the bird-thing must have Kenobi. Sith hells. They’re diving down towards the monastery-- so much for that being _safe_ \-- and now he not only knows where two of the three Jedi are, he knows they need his help _now._

He takes the incline ahead at a run, and kicks his way off a few footholds to scale the cliffside far faster than is safe. If he falls…

If he falls, he’ll _definitely_ be failing his CO’s. If he slows down, it might be too late by the time he gets there to help. Sure the drop would hurt, but _failing_ would be worse than _falling_.

He climbs, and climbs, and climbs, and his arms are trembling as he heaves himself up over the edge. There’s the monastery. It would be so nice to collapse onto the ground and… not get up, for at least an hour or two. He’s struggling to catch his breath, his fingers are loudly protesting his treatment of them in the last stretch of the climb, and his feet have gone from sore to numb.

Monsters to shoot. Jedi to save. Whine about being tired later.

But this planet just _won’t karking quit,_ so as he’s pushing himself back to his feet the ground shudders like an explosion went off underground and he hears someone shouting (sounds like Skywalker? That can’t be right, too loud, there’s that reverb to it) and- oh, what the _hell_ the sky’s spinning overhead? Everything’s spinning, too fast, too much, storms writhing across the sky and stars flickering in and out, light chasing dark and being swallowed up and reigniting again and the air itself is trembling and he can’t _breathe_ with everything crashing down--

The spell breaks, the pressure lifts, the planet rights itself on its axis and the sky gradually melds back into daytime-colors appropriate for its atmospheric makeup.

Rex, coughing and choking his way back to breathing properly for the _second_ time in less than a planetary rotation (unless they just went through two or three in a row there, _osik_ he’s still trying to get himself off the ground), staggers back up from his knees. He has to _move,_ because whatever caused that, he’s certain the Jedi were at ground zero.

This planet is going to be the kriffing death of him if things keep going like this.

...Monsters to shoot. Jedi to save. _Keep moving._

He walks beneath the doorway quietly, carefully, on full alert for any monsters he might need to shoot or Jedi he needs to free from some form or another of containment/imprisonment. Panic’s still scratching at the back of his mind, but he’s... _more_ focused than he was before. Still, every echo, every vague sound from _somewhere_ , all has him whirling around far more than he’d like to. It would be amazing to have a brother watching his back.

There’s the dull hiss of stone dragging over stone. He pivots and takes aim-

Togruta. Short. Human behind them. They recoil, he freezes.

_Tano_. _Kenobi_. He was about to shoot them. Kriff. _False alarm_ , he scolds himself. _Put the blasters down, soldier._

“Rex!” Tano cries, and he’s barely holstered his DCs before she’s skidding to a stop before him and grabbing ahold of his arms. “I’m so glad you’re okay! We thought you’d be fine, but I was worried, and we didn’t know where your ship went…”

“It crashed,” he informs her, and catches ahold of one of her arms at the wrist. “Good to see you in one piece too, Commander.”

“Rex, you _are_ quite the sight for sore eyes,” Kenobi chuckles. He looks stressed, tired. Like he’s been mentally dragged through the same mud Rex was physically in. “Like Ahsoka, I’m glad to find you unharmed.”

(“Rex is here?” Anakin asks, and he turns to follow- only for the Father to stop him.

“ _Wait._ Your friend will be here once we are through.”

“...Aren’t we through already?” He holds out his hands at his sides, shakes his head. “I can’t stay here.”

“But…” the old man looks confused. “This is _yours._ It has been foretold.”)

“Yessir,” Rex nods. “All in one piece. Any damage is mainly cosmetic.” He reaches up to take off his helmet-

Light from the giant doorway makes him stop and drop his hands back to his DCs. Kenobi whirls a split second before Tano… only to throw out an arm and bar Rex from taking a clear shot; “ _Hold your fire_! They will not harm us.”

The monster quirks what might be an eyebrow, while the glowing one watches them all passively. Rex grits his teeth.

“All due respect, sir? The pale, skinny one tried to _eat_ me.”

Kenobi doesn’t have a response to that. The glowing one turns to stare at the monster. “You attempted to harm him?” They demand, and their voice echoes just like the other one.

Rex forces himself to relax his jaw. General Kenobi said they’re not hostile. There will be an explanation, like there usually is with weird Jedi things.

“I have done no such thing,” the thing that tried to eat him defends, turning to ignore everyone else. “He is unharmed. I was merely curious!” Then quieter, as if this is a secret, “He does not hold the same power as the others.”

“We are not to interfere,” the light one says. “ _You_ are not to interfere. It is forbidden.”

The conversation gets quieter in general; more closed-off.

Maybe there won’t be an explanation this time.

Rex refocuses. “General Kenobi, sir?” Kenobi looks back at him. “Do you know where General Skywalker is?”

“Speaking with the Father, at the moment. He will be along shortly. ...He’s alright, I assure you. None the worse for wear.”

That’s a relief to hear. “Thank you sir. And yourself and Commander Tano?”

“Oh, you know,” Kenobi huffs, just on the verge of a sarcastic chuckle, “Carried aloft by a gryffon after spending the night on a strange, unfamiliar planet, and then Anakin does…” a shake of his head. “Well. Whatever _that_ was, I suppose.”

He’s inclined to laugh along, nod and say he understands, but- _what?_ Did he hear and translate that correctly?

“That was General Skywalker, sir,” he asks flatly. “The- the sky spinning? The shaking? Everything almost imploding?”

“You felt that.” Kenobi seems surprised too. He chokes on a laugh that he didn’t strangle in time.

“ _Sir,_ ” he continues, because laughing and not responding is rude, “I was right outside the building. How could I not feel it?”

“It was a Force thing,” Tano chimes in. “I guess we assumed that, since you don’t have the Force… _anyway,_ ” she’s good at carrying on. Important skill when you’re a Jedi Padawan to Skywalker and in close contact with Kenobi, “I’m okay too. Sore from sleeping on a bunch of rocks... Do you think if I ask pretty please I could get an extra few minutes of hot water on the ship?”

“It’ll cost you,” Rex warns. He’s happy to let the conversation move away from _that_ mess and back to mundane topics like water rations. “And it might not be in credits. Measure’s a master at bad ideas, and good at hoarding favors ‘til she has one.”

Tano laughs. Then she tilts her head slightly and turns, acknowledging the new presence right before Skywalker actually calls attention to himself by calling out;

“Rex!” He’s smiling but he looks kriffing _exhausted._ Not that Rex can’t relate, of course- just usually, his General doesn’t move like he wants nothing more than to collapse into a bed for a week straight. “Glad to see you made it, Captain.”

“Good to be here, sir. If you don’t mind my saying so…” he tilts his head casually. “You look like you could use a nap.”

Skywalker snorts. “Can’t we all? Come on, I could use some fresh air.”

“Anakin,” Kenobi starts, moving to keep pace as Skywalker walks towards the exit. “What did the Father say?”

“Just more nonsense about prophecies, Master. He wanted me to stay and… and _babysit_ his kids, essentially.”

“You’re not staying, are you?” Tano cuts in, at the same time Kenobi asks, “And what did you tell him?”

“No,” Skywalker says, in answer to both questions; “I told him no. I’m leaving the moment we find our ship.”

“Your ship is outside,” the glowing one says. Rex can’t quite fight down the way it makes him jump. Something about them, the light they give off, makes him think of bright light fixtures reflecting off white sterile surfaces. It’s unpleasant to look straight at. Plus, they’ve clearly been listening in, and he’s not fond of that either.

He wants to stay far away from _both_ of them; the light one _and_ the dark one.

“That’s where we ought to go then,” Kenobi murmurs, carrying on the conversation. “Come along.”

...The ship’s outside on the platform, in one _completely undamaged_ piece, looking ready to take off whenever it may be needed. Rex squints and checks his HUD just to be sure he’s not somehow imagining it. “That wasn’t there a few minutes ago.”

“How would you know?” Tano asks. He turns to direct the full gaze of his visor at her.

“Unlike _some people_ , Commander, I didn’t fly in.”

“Oh.”

He chuckles at the face she’s making, and waves her onto the ship. _Oh_ indeed.

“At least it wasn’t here the whole time,” Skywalker sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You Mortis arc fans know what's gonna happen next <3  
> Anyways, [rubs my lil writer hands together] I struggled a lot with writing this chapter, but overall I think the good outweighs the bad! I'm amusing myself with One foreshadowing note.


	4. Flight Risks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, heights aren't so bad, it's the fear of falling. And really, falling isn't so bad, it's the landing.

Skywalker stands in the cockpit for just long enough to see that the ship is fully operational, then says something about a nap and trudges to the cargo hold. Rex checks on him a few minutes later to find him dead asleep on... what’s either a bed or a shelf. He can’t tell.

(In his defense, they look strikingly similar and one can be repurposed to serve as the other.)

Anyway, Kenobi and Tano are finishing the task of getting the ship ready for takeoff, and he props himself in the doorway between the cargo hold and the cockpit to observe.

“General Skywalker’s asleep,” he reports. Kenobi chuckles.

“Yes, I can’t say I’m surprised… He’s been in motion ever since we left the ship. I’m not certain he’s held still long enough to sleep.”

“I can believe that. Especially with that…” he searches for the word, can’t find it, and just blows out an incredulous sort of chuckle instead. “The tall, bald one? Turns into a giant mynock-thing?”

“The Son,” Tano fills in. “He gives me the _creeps_.”

“Yeah. With him prowling around, I didn’t get much shut-eye either.”

“...Earlier, you said He tried to eat you,” Kenobi says, just shy of a question. Rex nods.

“Nearly did, sir, then just… left, for some reason. Said he had something else to do. And he’d been stalking around a few hours before that.”

“ _Stalking_. He was stalking you.” This is Kenobi’s ‘this is not a good thing' tone, the one he pulls out when he's receiving information that will change his approach to the battle but it's not the messenger's fault, and the messenger didn't even foresee it as a problem-

“Rex?” He blinks. Both the Jedi are watching him.

“Sorry, I’m a little tired,” he covers (it’s not a lie), and pulls off his helmet so they know he’s listening. “Repeat that, please?”

“You said the Son was stalking you?” Was it? He knows it was looking for him, but… kriff.

“Er.” Maybe _stalking_ was too strong of a word. “Something like that, sir. I was stationary, so I couldn’t see much of my surroundings... but he _did_ say I was hard to find. I don’t believe the times I saw him before that were coincidence.”

“What did he want with you?” Tano asks. Good question. He tilts his head, just barely shy of sarcastic.

“Sir, it tried to eat me. I imagine he was wanting a snack, and a clone was easier to catch than a Jedi.”

“I don’t think They need food like that, though,” Kenobi says. He’s doing the beard-stroke thing. Rex waits, for the sigh that follows and for when he drops his hand back to the ship controls and carries on: “Well, we’re leaving, so that problem won’t be _our_ problem.”

“Glad to hear that, General.” And he really is glad to leave. There’s a chill along his spine; it started as a vague prickle of _be on your guard_ directly after the universe forgot how to function for a moment, and then turned into a buzz of _not safe_ when they got on the ship. Now, as they’re taking off, it’s formed into something he almost can’t ignore, ice under his skin and a feeling at his temples and in the back of his head that yells _danger danger **danger**_ but doesn’t tell him _what_ the danger is or how to respond. He puts his helmet back on, just to try to quiet it down and soothe the swooping feeling in his chest.

Doesn’t work very well. It’s almost certainly just a bout of paranoia, or if not paranoia, a word that means _unable to calm down even though the danger has definitely passed_.

He mutes his externals and sighs. When they get back to Coruscant, he’s going to take advantage of the free time and crash on his bunk for as long as he can get away with. Maybe he’ll bully Cody to take a nap himself over the comms before he falls asleep. They can do datawork on the way to Coruscant, and get it out of the way. What’s another standard rotation spent awake, since he’s already up-

Oh. Tano’s headed towards the cargo hold. He shifts to let her through, and watches idly. She stops in the center of the hold, as if she’s… listening? Maybe she can feel that ring of _not safe_ that’s itching against his skin. Maybe she’s just checking something mundane on the ship. Maybe Skywalker’s doing something Force-related in his sleep. Bunch of maybes. Not that important, in the end, so he’ll leave it alone.

Skywalker jerks upright with a gasp, and Rex recoils- _hands_ off _the blasters, soldier,_ kriffing hells he’s jumpy-- and Tano steps over to put a hand on the General's shoulder.

“Did you have a nightmare?” She asks. Skywalker groans, runs a hand through his hair.

“Something like that.” He was only asleep for a few minutes... Not a lot of _actual_ sleep before the nightmare. General Skywalker slips off the bed, stands up- and then promptly stumbles as something shakes the ship and sends it pitching to the side. Tano catches herself on a handle on the wall, Rex finds a handhold on the doorframe. Kenobi flicks a switch, turns a knob, and jerks the ship back into relatively proper order.

“If you’re awake now, I could use your help with the ship,” he calls over his shoulder. Rex steps back from the doorway so Skywalker can step through.

...The pressure in the cargo hold shifts. The door slides shut. Tano makes a choked sound. Rex spins around and takes aim on reflex-

It's the monster again.

 _The Son_ is on this ship, smiling with just a hint of those kriffing razors it might call teeth, and this time he doesn’t waste time freezing before he fires.

His blaster jerks to the side, shot hitting the wall instead.

 _Shit_. Jedi powers. He didn’t account for it being able to do that.

“Such a shame you’re leaving so soon,” the Son sighs, hand curled around Tano’s throat. “...Or maybe you’re not.” He lifts her casually, like she doesn’t weigh anything, ignoring the sounds she makes as she struggles to breathe, ignoring her fight to free herself. “You won’t be leaving without this.”

The airlock slides open. The Son, still smiling wide, falls forward. Tano screams. Skywalker is trembling, frozen wordlessly. There’s no way they’ll be able to pull the ship around in time to catch up to the Son in the air.

Rex swallows down the part of him that’s shouting _oh no no no I don’t want to do this don’t make me_ and clears the distance between the door and the airlock in one bound. That feeling earlier, the one that wouldn’t leave him alone but wouldn’t tell him what it was for? He’s figured it out. It felt like falling.

His feet meet open air.

He plummets.

Then, he thinks, _I'm going to die._

There’s no way he accounted for the distance and trajectory correctly- he _didn’t_ account for it, he just followed a _feeling_ like the Jedi do, like that’s something he can do, and jumped. Tano will die and he’s going to die too and none of it will mean anything.

He kriffing hates falling.

Then he slams into something like hide armor and scrabbles for enough of a handhold to keep him from _actually_ falling to his death. Tano is shouting from a meter or two below him; he’s on the back of a giant Forcedamned nightmare mynock and his ears are ringing and the thing is roaring and shuddering like it wants him off, it wants him off but if he falls-

_One thing at a time._

He has to either slow it down or ground it. They’re flying through a bunch of rock spires, rough and tall and generally uninviting as something to run into. The Son clips dangerously close to a few of them as it wheels through the air...

Rex throws his weight to one side. To counter, it dips- and its wing hits the pillar. They go down. The Son spins through the air towards the dirt and as Rex holds to a wing just below the shoulder he hopes that his helmet will hold if he hits his head-

There’s a _crack_ upon impact. Loud. Hopefully not a bone on him or Tano. They’re skidding across the ground and it sends him rolling an extra stretch past wherever the Son stopped.

... _Shab_. His head’s spinning. Ow. Concussed? About to go into shock? Otherwise in more than one piece either externally or internally? No. No to all of those. He shoves himself up to his feet and staggers once he’s there. Dizzy from spinning. Tired from… _everything_. He wants to lay down. Can’t, because-

Tano.

Tano’s getting up, and she’s moving gingerly like something’s hurt, but that’s better than lying still on the ground. She groans, brushes dirt off herself. Her mouth’s moving and there’s sounds coming out?

Oh. She’s talking to him. His ears aren’t working, or something. He blinks the transcription function of his HUD into action, favoring that over trying to decipher meaning to the sounds she’s making. The text cuts in, “-...s. You could have been killed!”

The thing’s on the ground, covered in a spray of dirt and rock. Rex shrugs. “You would have been too, sir.”

“I’m a Jedi, Rex. You’re- what were you thinking?” Probably should be ‘?!’ at the end of that, judging by how she’s gesturing.

“I thought, sir…” He’d thought, ‘ _oh kark this is how I’m going to die, isn’t it_.’ That’s not exactly what she’d want to hear, his panicked internal monologue while he was falling… “That the Generals wouldn’t be able to pull the ship around fast enough, and if I didn’t do something, it would probably eat you like it tried to eat me.”

“But you still- ugh.” He tilts his head, stays silent, and watches as she throws her hands back down to her sides. “Thank you, really. I mean it. Are you okay?”

That last question actually made sense to his ears. That’s good. He nods.

“Far as I can tell, nothing broken. Can you contact the Generals?”

She pauses, cocks her head in the ‘I’m listening very hard to the Force’ posture, and grimaces. “...Master Skywalker is totally freaking out right now. He’s… kind of yelling.” Her eyes close. He waits. “They know we’re okay, and they’re heading towards us.”

He sighs. -Not that he can _relax,_ though, because the monster rumbles a low, groggy growl, so he draws his blasters and aims them at its head. It’ll hold still if it has any sense of self-preservation. “If possible, advise them to move quickly.”

Until pressed, he's going to hold off on shooting anything; the risk of waking it up instead of killing it is _not_ worth the possible reward of it being dead. It might come back from the dead, anyway, if he killed it…

-

“The Son took Ahsoka!” Anakin explains, barely breathing as he slams into the second pilot’s seat. “Rex jumped after her. Move!”

“Took-” Obi-Wan’s head whips between the controls and his former padawan in the second seat. “What do you _mean_ Rex jumped-? Anakin?”

Anakin slams the ship into a dive. Obi-Wan diverts his focus into keeping the ship stabilized enough to pull out of the dive instead of spinning out of control. “Some additional information would be _lovely,_ if you please!”

“ _The Son took Ahsoka!_ I can’t-” he jerks the ship back up and leans forward, eyes darting over what he can see. “No sign of Rex, so he must be with them. Where did they go?”

“How did He get in?”

The ship’s rattling, drifting. Anakin yanks on the controls to bring it back on course. “Airlock. I can’t- I need to _focus,_ Obi-Wan.”

“Have we closed the airlock since then?”

Anakin growls and slams his hand up to hit a button. The ship’s monitor gives a crackling sound of error, but the drag lessens. They barrel on through the fog.

Obi-Wan puts a hand to his mouth, Anakin strains to catch a glimpse of the Son, and silence falls.

...He jerks upright. Obi-Wan follows suit. There’s a call in the Force, a light reaching out;

_Ahsoka._

“She’s okay,” he sighs. “I felt her. Hang on.”

-

The thing doesn’t stir after that, thankfully. The fall must have rattled it thoroughly. Rex remains where he is regardless, and doesn’t move even when their ship’s engines hum nearby and it kicks up a waist-high wave of dust as it hovers.

“Ahsoka!” Skywalker calls. “Come on, let’s get you and Rex out of here!”

“You first, Commander,” Rex says. Once she’s out of his field of vision he backs up, slowly, eyes still fixed on the monster on the ground. It shifts-

It moves, rising up, and stretches out its wings with a gargling sort of roar. Something visibly shifts under its skin, snapping back into place.

_Kark._

The neck seems like a good place to shoot, or into the mouth. Maybe the eyes if he can manage it. As it roars, he squeezes the trigger--

The sound is a shockwave, knocking him off-balance from already unstable footing. His shot goes wide, just enough to completely miss.

And as the monster takes off, rocketing towards him, his last thought before the ground shoots away from beneath him is _why does anything need that many forcedamned teeth?_

-

It’s good to see Ahsoka and Rex safe.

...That feeling lasts for roughly a minute. Initially, it fades slightly when Anakin sees the scrapes scored up Ahsoka’s left side. There’s blood running down her arm, and her lek is bruised. Whatever happened, she didn’t get away without injury.

“Ahsoka!” He calls from the gangplank, because the ship is just hovering instead of landing, “Come on, let’s get you and Rex out of here!”

Rex’s head jerks towards the ship, slightly, like he’s telling Ahsoka to go on ahead. She obeys. He’s glad to have her back on the ship. Rex is backing towards them, blasters still trained on the Son....

The Son shifts, and the Force chokes out a warning right before He stands and stretches; bones shift under the skin, _snap_ back into place. Ahsoka is projecting raw panic as He leans forward, hunkers down...

Ahsoka’s shout is almost louder than the Force repeating its own warning. Anakin reaches out to stop the Son as He barrels towards Rex but- but the Force won’t _listen,_ he’s stretched too thin, he’s--

He’s standing on the edge of a precipice, overlooking an expanse of darkness that stretches to the horizon and beyond. The sky is bright, so bright that ‘ _bright’_ barely covers it, too bright to look at. There’s a wind, a breeze, a gale pushing him towards the drop and the push feels like a hand on his shoulder and a voice saying _Anakin, my boy, they simply don’t understand how special you are…_

“Master Skywalker!”

He blinks.

He’s on the ship, there’s just dirt only half a meter below him, and the Son is flying away with plastoid in His jaws. Ahsoka’s shaking his arm.

“Master! Rex- he- we have to save him!”

“We will,” he promises her, dragging himself back from that edge he’d teetered on for a moment. He turns and runs into the ship with her right behind him. Whatever that was… no, he won’t get into it now.

“I take it this rescue has gone _sideways_ ,” Obi-Wan says, already urging the ship into motion before Anakin has so much as turned the chair so he can sit, “Given all that shouting.” “The Son has Rex,” Ahsoka manages, finding her own seat. “Hurry!”

“We _are_ ,” Anakin replies. He pushes the ship faster, in pursuit of the leathery wings swirling the fog as they go. They’re hurrying, and they’re going to save Rex; not only did he just risk his life to save Ahsoka, he’s a _friend,_ and Anakin isn’t going to let anything happen to him. Not on his watch.

But for all his determination, the Son is hard to track visually, and the Force is a ringing mess of conflict. There’s no clear direction and warnings are messy and sometimes too late. He gets dangerously close to a pillar as he spins through the air, then climbs to stay right behind the Son.

Obi-Wan sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Anakin.”

"Mmn."

 _"Anakin_."

"I see it." There's a pillar ahead. The Son flies past it.

"We're not going to make that."

Anakin keeps his eyes fixed on his goal. "Yes we will. We have to."

"Anakin, ' _where there's a will there's a way'_ does _not_ mean flying like you're--!"

The ship's wing catches on stone, tearing away metal. A warning blares on the console and they go spiraling down towards the ground.

There have been worse crashes.

There have definitely been worse crashes.

However, the _timing_ for this crash is one of the worst in all of history. Ahsoka chokes out “ _Sithspit_!” and jumps from her seat to run towards the exit. She's first out of her seat, followed by Anakin. Obi-Wan grits his teeth and sets after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with this chapter! Even though getting it ready for posting included taking out a short chapter and putting those scenes into the longer chapters surrounding it.  
> Again, those familiar with the Mortis arc may know what to expect... I think we're getting to the good part.


	5. Sepsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sepsis: n. Systemic infection by pathogenic microorganisms, especially bacteria, that have invaded the bloodstream, usually from a local source. Sepsis is characterized by fever, increased number of white blood cells, increased heart rate, and other signs of widespread infection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!: couldn't find a tag for it, but somebody's in a fair amount of pain, and the injury itself is not depicted graphically, but the story DOES gets into intense detail on what it feels like for the pov character.  
> If that's not something you're comfy with, feel free to message me and I can give you the rundown of what happened this chapter.

"Anakin! Ahsoka! _Wait!_ "

"The Son has _Rex_ , Master!" Ahsoka shouts, spinning around and throwing out her arms. "And he tried to eat him earlier! What if he does it now?!"

"If He truly wanted to eat him, I believe He would have done so long before now." Obi-Wan slows to a stop, sighing. " Believe it or not? I _am_ worried for Rex as well. But this is…” he shakes his head, motions with a hand, “We're involved in something none of us _understand_ , and anything we do here _will_ have consequences for the rest of the galaxy. We need to get help."

"Who's going to help us?" Anakin retorts. "We can't contact the cruiser, and she’s right that the Son’s been after Rex for a while."

"If anyone would know what to do, it would be the Father." Anakin scowls.

"You don't know where the Father _is,_ Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Do you know where the Son is?"

"I have a pretty good idea! But if the Father is still at the monastery, that's-"

“It’s _still_ better than nothing, and if we got the ship-”

“What, so He can use that time to--”

“It will take longer to walk to the Father,-”

Ahsoka grits her teeth.

“-assuming we’re going to the Father first! I don’t think--”

“ _I_ don’t _think_ we have the power to fight the Son alone.”

They’re just standing here.

“ _I_ do! You saw what I did-”

“And I’ve sensed how exhausted you were afterward-”

" _We don't have TIME to argue!"_ She erupts. "We don't! We-” she looks between them, searching for the response she needs. “Rex _needs_ our help, Masters, and the longer we spend here arguing…"

"Ahsoka." Anakin steps forward, lays a hand on Ahsoka's shoulder. "We're _going_ to save Rex. I promise."

"But I imagine the Son wishes to divide us," Obi-Wan interjects, "And letting Him have His way here…"

"We won't be alone," Anakin says, as if he suddenly has it all figured out; "Ahsoka and I will stick together. _You_ look for the Father. _We'll_ find Rex." He pushes Ahsoka along, towards the structure in the distance.

" _Anakin-_ "

"You can swoop in and save us at the last second like you always do, Master!” Anakin waves over his shoulder, “Or maybe _we'll_ find Rex and then save _you."_

They continue on, picking up the pace until they're nearly running. Obi-Wan bites the inside of his cheek and watches them go.

He’d wish them well, but _Force be with you_ doesn't feel like as much of a benediction here.

-

Rex bites back a groan as he drifts to consciousness. It would be nice to ignore how sore he is, give up the fight he’s pitching just to open his eyes, and slip from unconsciousness into actual _sleep._ He’s tired.

Not tired enough to ignore the survival instinct urging him awake, though.

...His helmet’s gone, he notes, when he forces his eyes open. Blinking to pull his HUD back online does nothing, and when he turns his head he can’t feel the weight of the plastoid. Around him, the room’s dark, with orange light throwing patterns across the floor. A doorway beyond that, he thinks. Too dark to tell if it’s open.

His shoulder calls his attention back to himself, by how it _aches,_ and he notes that he can’t move his wrists; they’re shackled to the wall. Thick, metal bands, locked by a bar through them... Low-tech, it seems. He wrenches against it, judging the give and hearing it rattle.

He pulls again. It doesn’t give- not _yet,_ but they probably assume he’s a normal human, so if he can get the right leverage and find a weak spot… the restraints rattle again but don’t give, and he takes a deep breath before giving it another go. He’s been captured, and he can _feel_ an old wound acting up, but he won’t be kept here- he _won’t,_ not by some damn shapeshifting overgrown mynock--

“Save your strength,” calls a voice from _somewhere,_ drifting from no clear direction, and he slams back against the wall by reflex. (Good old hindbrain or whatever it’s called: it’s doing a splendid job of screaming _get away_ loud enough for the part of his body that handles adrenaline to get the hint and uselessly dump a whole bunch of it into his system… adrenaline only works when he can _move_ to use it.)

The darkness is hard to see through- oh, there. His eyes skipped over them the first time, but now he focuses. They’re standing hunched over, dull dark eyes fixed on him. Vaguely purple skin, he _thinks,_ and its teeth are yellowish-white and decidedly predatory in shape as it opens its mouth to say,

“You have been left to die.”

“I never would have guessed that,” he huffs, and wrenches against the metal holding him down. “I’ll have to find my own way out.”

The rattling is a little more violent. Feels like part of the locking mechanism might be too delicate for his abuse of it. Now the question is, which will give first; the restraints, or his shoulder?The little purple thing’s still watching him, so he cocks his head and eyes it. “Are you here to make sure I _don’t_ escape?”

“No, no… I am a prisoner much like yourself.” They move forward, limping, favoring their left leg heavily. “I have… I have been here for a very long time.” A light, airy laugh, as they run a clawed hand over their scalp. “For more years than I can remember… no, escape is _impossible._ ”

“For you, maybe.” He stops, just for a moment to catch his breath. His arm is burning, and his left hand is slightly numb at the fingertips. “But I’m a clone. We’re stronger than the average human. I’ll get out.”

“A clone,” they repeat. They move closer again, head tilted like they’re sniffing the air. “What is a clone? You are… unusual.”

“Republic soldiers.” He stands tall- or, well, as tall as he _can_ when these restraints were probably made for someone shorter _(like Tano?_ )- “We’re fighting a war against the Separatists. My brothers and I are the main body of the army.” Ok. Maybe if he focuses on getting his uninjured arm free first… “Don’t suppose you’ve heard about that down here, though.”

“No. But I _do_ know what soldiers are.” They’ve hop-dragged themself to the wall now, and they begin hauling themself up to climb it. He’d actually like for them to keep their distance, but it’s not on the top of his list of priorities, and he can’t do much about it besides. They sigh, murmur to themselves- “If you are a soldier, you have superiors, yes?”

Huh. “Yeah. General Skywalker’s who I answer to.” ...And he _hopes_ the answer is no, but he has to ask: “You didn’t see anyone else of the same species as me down here, did you? Taller, wearing mostly dark clothes?”

“No. I have not seen anyone else. You and I are the only ones down here.” Their fingers are long and almost-sharp as they graze over his hand. He fights the urge to flinch.

A moment later, the shackles unlock with a click. He pulls his arms free slowly and carefully, gingerly working the life back into his upper body, and murmurs his thanks.

“Of course,” they reply. “The physical trappings are the easy part.” He rolls his shoulders, only half-watching as the creature begins to climb down. With one bad leg, they manage fairly well, but it still-- they slip, or something, and then just launch themselves towards the ground. The impact is ungraceful and sounds painful. He cringes.

“You okay?” He receives a laugh in return.

“The physical is nothing!” They push themselves up, shaking their head. “No, indeed. What goes on in _here-_ ” an emphatic motion to their head- “ _That_ is where the _fight_ is. Are you prepared for that, clone soldier?”

That sounds like Jedi shit. He sighs, gives up on working the ache from his shoulder, and responds, “If you’re talking about some darksider, I’ve gone up against them before. I know how to keep them out of my head.” His blasters are still at his sides, he finds. “Shooting them works well, typically…”

“Brave.” They move towards him again, tilting their head as they gaze up. “...Are you planning to fight your way out?”

“That’s the most obvious option. The Jedi probably won’t find me within the next few hours, so I’ll bust myself out and find _them._ ” He spares a glance for the creature, taking a step away. “Are you coming?”

“Oh… yes, yes of course-” they duck their head, wring their hands, “I had simply thought… perhaps, a _soldier_ such as yourself would be rescued quickly.”

“Knowing them, not likely. They’d go looking for me,” ( _probably_ ,) “but it will save us all time when I do it on my own.”

“On your own.” He has their full attention again. And maybe it’s rude to think this, but those big black eyes put him on edge. They don’t reflect the light. It’s like staring into two tiny sinkholes.

There’s ice dragging its fingers down his back, whispering a warning.

He’s _tired_ of the vague unease. He brushes it aside.

“Sure, on my own. We train for these things. I’m equipped for this- and worse.”

“But are you truly?” He pauses. They’ve moved again, at some point, and now they’re almost leaned against his leg they’re so close. “You… _have_ realized it, have you not?”

Ice again. He shakes it off. “Realized what?”

“You are alone now.” Two black pits, sinkholes trying to suck him in. He blinks and breaks eye contact. “You are not _made_ to be alone, are you?”

(No, not really.)

“What’s it matter? I’m on my own now, so I’ll have to manage.”

(He wants Cody here. He’s _always_ getting dragged into shit like this, dragged away and off on his own because of Skywalker and Tano and Kenobi, and he’s tired of it. He’s a clone, he’s not-)

...Anyway, this is whining. Cut the whining, _soldier._ Get on with it. Getting separated happens to the best of groups. There’s a reason every single soldier trains for the eventuality of being alone in hostile territory. Change the subject.

“How are you feeling about running?” He asks the creature. They make a motion that seems like their equivalent of a shrug.

“I cannot do it well, or for very long.” Figures. He had trouble for a while when his _arm_ was acting up, so a leg must be even harder to manage.

“Right. I’ll carry you, then, if that’s alright with you?”

“You would burden yourself for me?” They ask. He hums, looking around the room. With any luck, his helmet’s here, and he just overlooked it when he first woke up… _aha._ There it is.

“Not much of a burden. All due respect, but you don’t look like you’re as heavy as I am. And even if you are, I’ll manage.”

He hears them following after him as he crosses the room to pick up his helmet, but he tunes it out for the moment as he brushes flaking mud off the jaig eyes. Still just fine, if a little more scuffed and scored thanks to the gravel he tumbled through earlier. He should repaint when he has the time. Then, with his helmet safely tucked under his left arm, he turns and crouches and holds out the one that doesn’t hurt; “Here, and if you hold on, you'll make my job even easier.”

They seem uncertain, hesitant to accept the offer, but then they step forward and let him lift them up as he stands. A bit heavier than expected, but still; not his weight. He could probably manage a dead sprint with them, if he had to.

“You are certain they will not come for you?” They ask as he walks towards the door. He’s not certain they won’t. (Worse, he’s not certain they _will_.)

“...Why are you so focused on that?” He’s just a clone. His CO’s might not expend all that effort for one clone. (But no, all this war, when has Skywalker abandoned him? Other than- _no._ ) “I told you, I’m breaking us out. We don’t _need_ the Jedi to find us.”

“Yes, perhaps… I’m sorry, that hope is a foolish one. Perhaps it would be best, if…”

They trail off. He slows to a stop.

…

They won’t come. They wouldn’t if he waited a whole tenday. Skywalker has Tano and Kenobi has Skywalker and that’s all they need. What’s one clone? Really? They _say_ he matters, act like they do, but they might have even left the planet already. (It would be easy to just sit down and let despair overtake him. He feels like he hasn’t slept in days.)

“It doesn’t _matter,_ ” he grits out, and kicks himself back into walking, this time faster. “I don’t know if you know much about clones, but part of reality is that we’re meant to be expendable. It’s up to me to find a way back, and... and make sure...”

Make sure he’s not abandoned and left behind and forgotten for failing to meet expectations, make sure the strategies and skills he’s learned to keep his brothers alive don’t die with him, make sure he can keep teaching Jesse how to lead instead of forcing him to learn through painful trial and error--

 _Pain_ at his neck, like a superheated hypo slammed directly onto an infected area. He yelps, almost shouts, and turns to see- blood, _his blood,_ on the creature’s teeth. He drops them and claps a hand to the wound.

What the- what the _hell,_ did it- did it hit anything vital? Is he in danger of bleeding out? What about poison or bacteria commonly found in that sort of creature’s mouth, anything potentially deadly if it gets introduced to his bloodstream--

Force, it’s _burning,_ this is bad, and it’s spreading down his neck. Fire’s travelling under his skin, but the shivering is setting in already too, and this is- it’s-

_Fuck._

The thing that _bit him_ is standing, like its leg never was hurting-- he shouldn’t have trusted them, that was stupid, why did he do that-- and its taller, he thinks. It seems taller. There’s pinpricks of red light, glowing cold against the voids of its eyes. He chokes on his words for a moment, then spits out, “What did you _do?!”_

“You are Mine now, soldier,” it _purrs_ in response, baring teeth that are still red with _his blood_. He’d scoff if he had the breath for it.

“Why the- how the _shit_ would biting me-” his world’s blurring in and out of focus. It hurts. The shivering is turning into shuddering, violent enough that it nearly takes him off his feet with the ferocity of it.

Skywalker won’t be coming to save him.

His knees buckle, sending him crashing down to the floor, and he watches blearily as his helmet rolls away out of his sight. His lungs aren’t working right and this- this isn’t how he wants to die, but he can’t even manage the strength to balance his weight on one arm and reach for his blaster with the other hand. Something’s _wrong_ and he needs help but no one will come, _who would look for just another clone_ -

His arms give out. The impact with the ground knocks the wind out of him- not that he'd been breathing enough to have much air in his body. He manages another shallow lungful in, chokes on the exhale, and painful _darkness_ finally crashes over him and wipes it all out.

(The Son watches and waits as the soldier’s shaking stops. This was not His plan- not the original one, at least. But it will work. And on top of that, it _will_ be entertaining to see how Father’s precious Chosen One reacts to this.

Yes, this soldier will be _His_ , soon, even if he was not meant to have this power forced through his veins.)

He wakes back up, only for the darkness to suck him under and eat him alive.

-

Ahsoka stops suddenly, perched on a ledge. Anakin jumps up beside her.

“...Snips? Ahsoka, are you alright?”

“Huh? Oh, I-” she blinks, shakes her head, and offers an apologetic smile. “I’m fine, Master Skywalker. I just…”

He watches as her smile fades and she looks away, cradling an arm close to her stomach. “What is it?” He prompts.

“I’m really worried about Rex,” she confesses. “I just- I got this bad feeling about all this, and… I’m worried. What if he’s-” she bites her lip, considers, “ _Not okay_ , when we find him?”

“He’ll be alright,” Anakin assures her. “It’s Rex. Since when did getting caught slow him down?”

“Never. But…”

“But he’s probably waiting for us, right? Come on.” He nudges her slightly, towards the step she’ll need to take to reach the next available ledge. “If we wait too long, he might remember what it feels like to have peace and quiet for more than five minutes.”

The joke earns a weak smile from her.

“Right,” she hums, “he’ll be waiting for us. And we can tell Master Obi-Wan we found him first... and go home.”

“Now you’re getting it!”

She nods, and leaps to the next ledge. Anakin follows.

He can still sense her worry, but at least she seems to be feeling slightly better… and he can’t fault her for the worry in general, because _he’s_ worried too. Rex, not having the Force, should be the _last_ person the Son is interested in.

But they’re going to save him. So what the Son wants doesn’t matter, because Anakin is going to put a stop to it. He has the power to do that.

...Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're good! We're cool! Everything's fine!
> 
> Also again, my tumblr is feelstown, if you wanted to talk to me there as well.


	6. Tatters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't built for this. He's going to fall apart.  
> He'll play his part all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: a lot of racing thoughts, leaning heavily into the feelings of a panic attack. Non-graphic injuries, but detailed descriptions of how those injuries *feel.*  
> Also, waves to the tags! I'd recommend going over them again if you haven't in a while.

The room is dim, lit by grey light filtering in through the windows.

The Son takes His place kneeling at the Father’s left hand. ...The Son _kneels_. Always kneeling. Always subservient. At a place of lesser honor. And kneeling is such a _stagnant_ pose.

The Son takes the place Father has demanded of Him.

( _“Rex? Rex,_ hey _, it’s us! The scenery is lovely, but we might want to leave before bat-breath comes by…”)_

“You have done what is forbidden,” Father chastises. “You have interfered.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” He replies, keeping His voice light-- _light,_ ironically-- and innocent. When Father rises, He follows- His Sister makes to do the same, but Father holds up a hand and keeps Her kneeling.

The Daughter is _burning_ , all She _is_ veiled in a wall of blinding light, but He has long since learned just how to lean into that light. He feels the frustration She does not immediately smother, and then listens to that frustration flicker and dwindle into the blankness She projects.

If She will not feel such things Herself, perhaps He will have to take it on for the both of them. Perhaps He will have to let Father know what he has _done._

Father walks away from his perch. He follows- always _following_. Unable to act alone _._ “You must not allow yourself to fall into the darkness, my son,” Father tremors. “We are not to involve ourselves in these matters. Balance _must_ be kept.”

(“ _So I’m important enough for you to come back.”)_

“I _am_ keeping balance,” He says. “All that Light in them...” He leans into Father’s line of sight, gesturing carefully with a hand. Father fears, but He can control Himself _without_ an old man overseeing His every move- “How is there balance, without the Dark?”

_(“What-? Of_ course _you’re important! We would have been here faster, but Obi-Wan and I crashed the ship trying to chase- nevermind. Come on, let’s get out of here.”)_

Truly, He knows what Father wants; the middle, grey, distance, uninvolvement. No Light, no Dark, merely disengagement from all movement. His Children _cannot_ be that, _but Father is willfully **blind.**_

“There is no balance in what you speak of,” Father replies. “They are as they ought to be- especially the Chosen One.”

(“ _...Your actions and words don’t match up, General.”)_

Ah, yes. The… Jedi. Skywalker. Father’s precious Chosen One. Powerful... and dangerously out of control, teetering on a hair’s-width platform between Light and Dark. If he were to lose those who drag him back from his fear and anger and _guilt_ … the only possible ending is clear.

Perhaps that is why Father fears Skywalker meeting the Son.

“How is it balanced if you give all to your Daughter and never to Me?” He argues. “I have _noticed,_ Father. You sent Her to fetch them, and sent Me away in hopes I would not… _taint_ them, perhaps?” Father sighs, and moves away from the topic.

( _“Don’t… line up? What’s that supposed to mean?”)_

“You must not let the Dark consume you. Your selfishness only grows, and if you will not fight it…” He senses the shift, the ripple of chains in the very air of this place Father has crafted to hold His Children- “I will be forced to contain you.”

As if He were a belonging. A pet. A prized possession who is not allowed to _think_ and _act._ He grits His teeth and makes no effort to battle down the cold anger that sweeps through Him. “You are growing _old,_ Father. You are not as strong as you once were.”

“I am strong enough,” is the reply, and Father is always so sure, so sure of himself, so sure of what the Son is, what He must be and what She must be and so sure of what is _best_ but _doesn’t he know--_

( _“What I_ mean _is..._ ”)

Anger snaps, spreads burning from His fingertips, and Father lights up in streams of red sparks.

The old fool cries out, and then is silent. The Son watches as the unconscious body rolls down the stairs and comes to a stop sprawled on the ground.

And it’s still _not enough,_ what more must He do, what must He do to rid Himself of this? He-

_He--_

“ _I HATE you_!” He screams. Father, motionless, does not respond. Red energy crawls across his robes in irregular flashes.

...One of the _Jedi_ with Father’s Chosen One is here. He stands at the edge of the platform, and watches the Son with cool trepidation and a sort of muffled acceptance like She always directs at Him when He acts out in anger. There is no fear within that gaze.

_There will be._

Obi-Wan watches as the Son shoots up into the sky and soars away, and turns as the Daughter comes rushing down the steps with a shout.

This is going dreadfully. He can only hope Anakin and Ahsoka have found Rex and are generally having better luck… the Son was _here,_ so surely it can’t be _that_ bad wherever they are.

Well. That _is_ being rather optimistic, unfortunately. It can always be worse.

-

This isn’t Rex. It _is_ , but it isn’t. Something is wrong, too wrong to even put words to it.

_“_ He’s _done_ something to you _,_ ” Anakin breathes, and a distant roll of thunder nearly drowns his words out as he stares into _yellow_ eyes. Rex tips his head to the side, all Rex sarcasm without any of the warmth that makes it fond.

“Showed me the truth?

“Oh no, He’s _definitely_ lied to you,” Ahsoka says. She’s scared, Anakin can feel it; she’s scared, so she’s projecting overconfidence. “He’s _dark,_ Rex. I know you can’t feel that, but-”

“It’s convenient, isn’t it.”

She fumbles. Rex presses on, gaze sharp like frostbite; “You know me better than I know myself, don’t you? You know my every thought, because you’re _Jedi_ and someone as lowly as a _clone_ couldn’t hide his feelings from you. Something must have _happened,_ for me to not be smiling and nodding along.” He sighs, expression going colder still as he narrows his eyes. A flash of lightning in the clouds halos his head, just for a moment. “Do you know how often I bite my tongue because you’re the General and the Commander and I’m just a captain? And a _clone_ captain _,_ at that?”

Neither of them have a good answer. Rex sneers.

Thunder rolls.

“That’s what I thought. You don’t know as much as you think you do, _sirs._ Not about me- not about the _galaxy_ , and you _definitel_ y don’t know enough to lead me and my brothers to anything but our _deaths._ Why do you think you know everything?” Rex takes a step forward towards the stairs, as he raises his voice; "How is it that _Anakin Skywalker_ knows better than the rest of the universe?”

“I never said I did!” Anakin protests. Rex _laughs_ at him, sarcastic and bitter, bleeding ice into the Force. It’s nothing like how Rex usually feels. Rex is… he’s supposed to be a _light,_ as reliable in the Force as he is on a battlefield.

“You _act_ like you know better. Better than your Master, at least. And…” he looks away for a moment as he seems to ponder something. Rex is supposed to be a light, but now he’s a gaping void, nothing but utter _darkness_. Thunder rumbles again, louder. “That’s not even mentioning the whole of the Senate and the Council. You and your _wife_ both know better.”

_Wife._ Rex knows about Padme, of course, but he never thought-

Ahsoka glances at him. His feet are frozen to the floor. “And you know better when it comes to battle plans. Don’t you?” Another step, down a stair. “Because you’re a Jedi, so you can charge into battle without worrying about things like blaster bolts or the gaps in your armor.”

He’s still stuck on Padme. He hadn’t meant for _anyone_ to know, not Ahsoka or Obi-Wan, but he’d thought he could trust _Rex._ He’d trusted him.

Rex looks him dead in the eyes and raises an eyebrow as he smiles. It’s all so _cold._ “Not as pleasant when I can disobey orders, is it?”

Was he only keeping the secret because Anakin is his superior? He’d trusted him as a _friend,_ not a soldier under his command...

“Rex, please, stop this,” Ahsoka pleads. “You don’t have to do this! We can- we can help you! Whatever the Son did-”

“I’m not _defective,_ Tano.” She cringes.

“I never said you were. I’m saying, we can _help._ ”

“No. There’s two ways you can help; one, you join me and the Son, and help bring the galaxy back into order. Two…” he sighs, resting a hand on the grip of a blaster. “You _die_ , and get out of our way.”

“We won’t be dying, _or_ joining you,” Anakin finally says. Everything else can wait for later. “What then?”

“Then you kill _me,_ I suppose,” Rex replies casually. He glances up, eyes following the track of a lightning bolt across the sky. “...But your odds aren’t good on that, _sir._ ”

The next roll of thunder shakes the air.

Rex launches from where he’s standing, firing off a few shots as he goes, and Anakin scrambles to ignite his lightsaber and deflect. Rex is _fast,_ and he’s crowding in too close for comfort. It’s hard to aim where each deflected bolt goes, and Rex isn’t wearing his helmet-- would it even matter at this distance anyway?-- so if he gets something wrong…

Ahsoka leaps in to help, bluffing a few swings that Rex steps away from. Maybe they should have gone with Obi-Wan, gone to find the Father, because Rex doesn’t seem to be having any problem keeping up with Ahsoka’s spins and swings.

It might help that he knows neither of them are really going to go for a kill.

Her blade goes in an arc that cuts Rex’s blaster in two but he just drops it and _lunges._ He catches the hilt of her saber, swings her around by it, then kicks--

His foot connects with her side, with enough force to break her grip and send her sprawling. Anakin rushes over, skidding to a stop beside her.

“You okay?” He asks. She groans, pushing herself up, an arm cradling her side.

“He hits like a _laartie,_ ” she wheezes. “Be careful.”

Rex doesn’t seem too concerned; he’s spinning Ahsoka’s lightsaber lazily, watching its tip, then his gaze goes to Anakin again. Anakin sets his stance, so he’s ready when Rex comes in-

He’s _not_ ready when Rex comes in. Ahsoka already warned him, but Rex hits _hard,_ and the first blow nearly jars his lightsaber from his grasp. He gives, blocks the second strike, twists and backs away. Rex follows, ignoring Ahsoka.

There’s not much time to examine Rex’s fighting style, or think much about strategy; the style is _press every weakness_ and Anakin’s return strategy has to be _cover before he’s cut in half._ They exchange blows --and when did Rex learn any of this?-- until Ahsoka gets back on her feet and comes in with her secondary saber lit. She scores a burn across Rex’s bracer, just enough to save Anakin from a blow he wouldn’t have been able to guard against, and the Force-

Gods, the Force _writhes_ and Anakin braces himself for whatever awful thing he’s being warned about--

Rex throws out his hands and the two of them both go flying backwards, as if shoved. Anakin leans to counterbalance, and takes a step back to reset. That was… that was the _Force._ Rex used the Force. That’s not… _Rex_ can’t do that.

Anakin shares a worried look with Ahsoka, and they move in to better defend one another.

It’s hard to avoid hurting him, when Rex is clearly trying to hurt _them._

-

Something is wrong inside him.

Something has been ripped out, and the thing shoved in to replace it doesn’t _fit._

There’s ice chasing fire in his veins, a patternless battle between burning alive, deathly cold, the pulse of it drilling into his brain and beating _hate hate hate_ against each thought he tries to hold until it all slips through his fingers, and then-

The truth is clear. He only has one answer left to all this, and it’s _Him._ Rex has been torn to shreds, pulled threadbare and propped up with the darkness racing through him like fire eating up liquid fuel, and the Jedi-

The _Jedi_ think they can _help--_ _no,_ they think he _needs_ help, needs to be _saved_ from the Son. They won’t see the truth as he knows it and turn to what’s best for the galaxy.

(Is it really best? Is the Son- is something that hurts this much the _best?_ )

Arrogant. _Shortsighted._ The Jedi are half-blind and distant and unwilling to bend where they need to. If they really cared they’d be bowing to Him like Rex already has.

(Itwasn’thischoice-- Skywalker’s reckless, but he’s not distant, that’s not-)

He hates them.

( _No, no he doesn’t,_ no it’s Skywalker and Tano and Tano is his _sister,_ little sibling, he doesn’t hate her he _doesn’t_ he doesn’t want to hurt her he wants to stop but he _hates her so much he hates her and Skywalker and Kenobi and everyone else who’s stupid enough to think they’ll do anything by fighting the Son--_

It feels like drowning. It’s dark and he’s alone, cold like space, being ripped further and further away from what he wants to do, who he is. All he can think is how much he-

He--

The Son hates them, so he does too.

(Anakin makes a sound of alarm, pulling uselessly at Rex’s grip. His organic fingers scrabble over plastoid as the metal of his mechanical wrist groans and bows and begins to spark under the fabric of his glove. His lightsaber clatters to the ground, fallen from a now-slack grip.

Tano is pouring worry into the air, Rex notes, like a wildfire pours smoke. It’s suffocating.)

He hates them. He hates them, _he hates them he hates he hates hates hates hateshateshateshateshates--_

-

Rex has Anakin by the mech arm, and he just _crushed_ it. Now he brings up _her_ lightsaber, the one she lost at the start of this fight, and- no, no no _no--_

Right before the blade connects with Anakin’s _throat,_ Rex is shoved back hard enough to send him sprawling. She didn’t do that. Then there’s a blur at the corner of her vision, and as Rex shoots back upright and swings, _Master Obi-Wan_ blocks it and presses the offensive.

That was… that was too close. Ahsoka creeps behind them to help Anakin up off the ground, passing his lightsaber to his functional hand.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ve had worse things happen to my arm,” Anakin groans. “ _You_ okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her side hurts when she breathes in, but for now _fine_ can mean that. She turns her focus to the duel between Obi-Wan and Rex, watching the exchange. It looks like Obi-Wan might be _winning,_ as they clash. Rex strikes, Obi-Wan twists to let it past- then Ahsoka’s lightsaber goes flying out of Rex’s hand to land somewhere nearby. Obi-Wan levels his saber just below Rex’s collarbone.

“I believe, Captain,” he pants, “That now is the time for you to surrender.”

Rex watches him carefully, yellow eyes narrowed but posture relaxed. They must have worn him out, if he’s not still fighting back.

Then Obi-Wan staggers back a step, free hand flying to his throat, and Rex raises a clawed hand. Ahsoka holds her breath as Obi-Wan’s feet leave the ground.

-

There’s no getting free of it.

The world slips away, for a moment, then he’s surfacing from the darkness again. 

“ _Rex,_ ” Skywalker says- tries to order, but his voice is too strained and scared and angry to be commanding, “Let him go.”

Kenobi kicks weakly. The air itself digs into Rex’s palm, lacing into burning threads that thrum like Kenobi’s pulse, racing hard and fast. It’s a wonder the heat hasn’t burnt through his blacks.

He keeps his hand up, fingers curled in around the Jedi’s throat from a distance, and watches Skywalker’s resolve start to crumble.

“Or _what,_ sir?”

Skywalker doesn’t have a response, and Tano is similarly frozen. Kenobi, meanwhile, makes a choked-off noise that might have been an attempt at talking. Rex directs his gaze back casually, almost lazily, and focuses on what Kenobi’s holding out towards Skywalker--

It’s a dagger.

_The one from the altar, it’s-_

_The dagger from the altar, that’s not theirs it’s His it belongs to Him_ bringittome _this is all part of His plan and it will not be ruined now, not by these Jedi, not-_

_“GIVE THAT TO ME!_ ” Rex roars. The sound that comes from him isn’t _him,_ isn’t his voice, and it tears at his vocal chords like the ice flooding through him has torn at everything else. He needs that dagger. The Son needs it, and Rex will retrieve it.

The dagger goes arcing through the air. He drops Kenobi to put his focus into reaching for it, and when Tano’s hands find it he _pulls_ against her and her feet skid over the stone. The strength of one _undertrained_ child-- _of Commander Tano, ~~his sister~~ \-- _is nothing compared to what he’s been gifted by the Son.

What is he doing?

He’s dragging Tano closer _don’t hurt her don’t hurt her please he doesn’t want to_ and she’s struggling but she’s ~~just a kid~~ far too weak to put up any real resistance. He reaches with his free hand and pulls the blaster he had dropped earlier back to his palm. He aims.

The recoil is too muffled and distant for him to feel it. Then the dagger meets his palm and it _burns_ like frostbite, burns like it’s melting him away, burns like everything in him _needs it needs it needs it He needs it_ but he’s not _meant_ for this, it’s wrong, everything is wrong and he can’t _think_ …

That sounds an awful lot like panic. Stop. Breathe.

There’s a blaster and a dagger in his hands. They’re heavy, so heavy the strain of holding them up hurts.

Focus on the current objective.

Current objective, current objective is-

No time for that. Jedi to shoot. Monsters to- to-?

Monsters to- orders are- _orders are orders and good soldiers--_

_He hates he hates he hates he hates he-_ no, no that’s his friends, she’s- they’re not… what is he doing? What has he done?

(The Son alights on the dias behind Rex, melding from winged beast to humanoid and bleeding smug satisfaction. He takes a step down, holds out His hand.)

“Give me the dagger, Captain.” It’s cold. Everything is so cold, but he’s burning and it won’t stop until he’s nothing but ashes.

He turns. The Son is before him, Kenobi behind him calling _don’t_ ; two sets of orders, one he will follow and one he won’t, and he won’t listen to _traitors._ All the Jedi are traitors.

But Skywalker. Skywalker’s thrown himself into danger time and time again for Rex’s men, how could he really-? _Traitor_ can’t be right, he wouldn’t-

He doesn’t want to do this.

An outstretched hand curls a finger and the ice in him sparks, sets him into motion without his control. The Son waiting. He’s- why is he doing this what is he doing this isn’t _him_ he can’t control his own body he’s burning he’s freezing he’s _let him go_ the Jedi are-

_hehatesthishehatesthis_

It’s not their fault! They tried to- he _hates_ them _intheeventofJediofficers--_ _will remove those officers by lethal-_

He’s lit up from the inside, but it’s not _light,_ it just hurts. It jerks him forward and his next breath is too clogged by the oil burning cold down his throat and coating his insides for him to really get any air in.

“I am _waiting,_ ” the Son growls.

_Stop._ Breathe ( _he can’t he’s suffocating_ ).

There’s a blaster and a dagger in his hands. Current orders are- what does he shoot and what does he save _he hates them_ does he _he hates this_ he hates this _afterreceivingspecificorders--_

Just a step and a lunge. In the event of…

Rex looks at the dagger in his hand. Even just breathing hurts, pulls at frayed threads that come nearer and nearer to snapping. He’s going to fall apart at this rate.

He raises his gaze to the One he stands in front of, takes in the red-on-black eyes and the pale, clawed hand. Fear pollutes the air and it tastes like burning plastoid.

He hates, he hates, he hates.

_He hates Him more than anything else._

The Son gives a half-strangled gasp, jerking as the dagger is buried to the hilt in His chest.

Claws find Rex’s temples, the darkness writhes and snaps the last threads holding him together, and oblivion _burns_ as it drags him down into nothingness.

-

Rex’s body drops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's ok he'll walk that off
> 
> (So uhhh, yesterday was super busy and I totally forgot to update!! Apologies for the delay! I think I'll be changing my upload schedule to Friday instead of Thursday for now)


	7. The Self; a Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grey jaig eyes catch the orange light. ...This thing looks more in place here than the man it’s taken the shape of. He stands out as something foreign. It doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhhh [laughs in 'I said I'd update Friday']? I can explain? It was a Week, and this chapter is one of the longest yet. I cut some of it to add to a later chapter but it's still probably twice as long as my usual updates.  
> Warning: once again, for panic attack-type racing thoughts.

The Son lunges for Father.

The dagger sinks into the wrong person.

It’s all going wrong, so _wrong..._

-

He sinks to the ground, and she stumbles to catch him. There is blood staining the front of his clothing, dying it darker.

This wound is something she cannot heal. She will not heal it.

“It was not meant to be you,” her brother gasps. The dagger has been cast away. She was not _meant_ to interfere, she knows, yet she did, and her blood is not on her own hands.

Her brother is dying, as well.

Time is quickly reaching its end for both of them.

In a way, it is… a relief. She is _old._ Old and tired; so very tired, in the quiet way exhaustion tends to creep in over the years. She cannot remember a world outside of this place she has been confined to for the galaxy’s safety. To become one with the Force, to _leave…_ will not be unwelcome.

Each breath she takes burns. Her blood is not on her hands, but it runs cold down her back.

Her only wish-- no, it would be untrue to say it is her _only_ wish. But one of her wishes, one of the things she wishes for, is the ability to spare Father the pain of all this.

She laces her fingers with her brother’s (and it is just _them,_ no Ones, no gods, just she and him), and tries to press _peace_ into the dark storm that has always eaten at his edges.

“I know,” she says.

“I am…” he swallows, takes a deep breath in. “I’m sorry.”

If one were impartial, he is not the only one at fault. He is not the only one to blame. She has made so many mistakes, and his actions- ironically enough, yes- have not cut _her_ the most deeply.

Nearby, a young girl sobs into the Chosen One’s chest. An innocent man lies lost in darkness through no fault of his own. Pain, fear, and grief fall heavy like a shroud.

But she speaks nothing of these pains to her brother, and simply whispers as he slips away, “ _I love you_. Sleep free.”

There is such sorrow. There is so little time. There is only so much she can do.

But what she _can_ do, she must. She _must_ act. She is dying, beyond the reach of healing, but the one her brother sunk into the dark- _he_ can still be saved.

“Father,” she calls, and holds out a hand for him to help, “Please.”

She _must._ There is one final wrong she can make right.

-

This has got to be a nightmare. It feels like one. She can’t find a pulse, and there’s no rise and fall of Rex’s chest.

“He’s not breathing,” Ahsoka chokes. “He’s not-” she looks up, searching for an answer or solution. Any moment, surely-

Any moment now, Master Skywalker will perk up and get that determined look in his eye, announce he has a plan, and Master Kenobi will gripe but ultimately help. Or Master Obi-Wan will begin with something like _I’m going to need you both to trust me completely for a moment…_ and the plan-- whether it’s Anakin’s or Obi-Wan’s-- will go sideways at some point but it will all be okay in the end. They’ll fix this.

Any moment now.

They’ll come up with a plan and when they come out of it Rex will complain that he’s going grey prematurely due to all the risks they take.

Any moment now, they’ll… Rex will…

...

He’s not breathing. She can’t find a pulse. The tears running down her face fall on motionless plastoid.

He’s dead.

“Ahsoka,” Anakin says. He sounds the same as she feels, and she can feel that he’s just as lost and just as hurt. What are they supposed to do? Rex is _dead._ He’s not coming back. He won’t take a deep breath in and let it out in a groan and demand to know what bullshit-- _his_ words, not hers-- knocked him out this time. He’s not going to open his eyes.

What is she going to do? He’s dead! There won’t ever be another time where she sneaks into his quarters late at night because she can’t sleep and she can sense he’s awake too; they won’t ever do stupid things like getting into mock-arguments over boloball teams neither of them have any personal connection to. There won’t be her whining over homework when they’re all on Coruscant and him laughing as he goes over the mathematics with her because everyone else is busy. There won’t be downtime on the cruiser, where he accuses various people of aging him beyond his years, and- and-

“ _Ahsoka,_ ” Anakin calls, and puts his arm around her shoulders and squeezes, squeezes tight until it almost hurts. She’s crying so hard she’s shaking, but… it doesn’t feel real. Would Rex have some trick to help ground her again, if she told him? He was good at those things, in a quiet way that suggested he’d had experience to hone his skills.

He _was?_ She’s already thinking of him like he’s gone, because he is, but it isn’t- Force, it isn’t _fair,_ all he did was help her and then after he _jumped out of a damn ship_ to save her, the Son- the Son turned him into something that was barely even him, but he _still_ saved them, and it’s not fair! Rex didn’t deserve that, but it happened, and he’s _gone--_

She turns and launches herself into Anakin, clinging to his robes like he’ll die too if she doesn’t hold on. Eventually, a hand rests on her shoulder, one she thinks is probably Obi-Wan’s, and stays there.

She’s pretty sure she’s not the only one crying, but that doesn’t feel like it matters anymore.

...Master Skywalker shifts, and Obi-Wan’s voice is a distant murmur. She hears the Father rumble something low and sad, echoing and layering over everything else.

Rex is dead. It’s all she can focus on. He’s gone. Forever.

Anakin jolts and leans forward slightly, asking something like it’s really _really_ important. Then he tugs at her, calls her name in a hushed whisper, asks her to let go.

She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to, because if she lets go-

“Come along Ahsoka,” Master Obi-Wan murmurs, closer, and his hand slips around her forearm as he draws her away from Anakin, “Just for a moment. There isn’t much time, and this may be dangerous.”

_What_ may be dangerous? She lets him drag her up to her feet, and leans most of her weight on him as she watches Anakin rest one hand on Rex’s chest, and take the Daughter’s hand in the other.

Light blurs out her vision.

-

There’s a glimmer of light beyond him ( _him-_ who is that? what is that? where is _he_?), and a noise that stutters to life in his ears.

...Oh. That’s his heartbeat. It stopped for a moment there, didn’t it...

Rex wakes with a gasp, bolting upright. There’s a shout--multiple shouts-- from nearby, and something’s pinning his arms to his sides-

“ _Rex!”_ Tano’s voice. He throws aside the idea of fighting free, and finally registers what’s happening; he’s being hugged, by Tano, and Skywalker is also holding onto his arm. Tano leans back to grin at him. ...she looks like she’s been crying. “Rex, you’re- Force, you’re okay, I’m so glad you’re okay.” A pause. Her smile falters. “I mean-”

“You _are_ okay, right?” Skywalker asks. His grip on Rex’s arm feels strange, sharper than it should be, like his touch has been static-charged.

“I… I think I’m alright,” he says. Everything feels sort of disconnected, near-weightless and distant. Absently, he notes Tano isn’t moving like her side hurts, and he’s glad for that…

...Why would she be moving like she was injured there? There’s something he’s missing. A blank space in his memory. All he can pull from the darkness is pain and fear and… and…? Something about Skywalker, Kenobi, he’d-

Skywalker’s holding onto his arm with his organic hand, and the mechanical one is hidden all too conveniently from his line of sight.

He blinks and sees _metal beneath his fingertips, sparking and whining at the pressure it’s under-_

They’re crowded around him like he’d sit close to a shiny who almost died; block the scene from their view, keep them calm. Talk them through the immediate aftermath. Speaking of talking, he’s pretty sure Tano and Skywalker have been talking to him, but he can’t remember what they said.

“What happened?” There’s the aftertaste of tabanna fumes in his mouth. It’s heavy and acrid.

The cobblestones are gritty beneath his palms, even through his gloves.

“Nevermind that,” Skywalker says. The General’s forgetting that he doesn’t need to be a Jedi to tell when they’re all rattled by something, he thinks. And they’ve all been shaken _hard_ by whatever happened _._ “All that’s important is that you’re okay. C’mon- we have a ship to get back to…”

Skywalker pulls as he stands, tugging him to his feet. Rex lets him-

_Oh._ Standing up that quickly was a mistake. His vision greys out, and he can’t tell whose arm slips around his shoulders to steady him. He-

There’s something there in his head, _right there_ , and he can’t _see_ it but it’s closer. The whatever-he’s-missed is a blank in his head, a dark stretch like a sinkhole that he can’t reach into. What is he missing? What happened? What did he do?

_What is he doing?_

_(Stop. Breathe.)_

_Skywalker pries at his fingers- Kenobi struggles weakly, held aloft by fireicesmokedarkness--_

_Tano is scared. He- he_ hates-

Oh.

_He puts the full force of his momentum into the kick, and-_ and he probably broke multiple of her ribs- _then he has a_ lightsabe _r to replace the blaster she cut in two._

Oh, no. Oh.

The holes in his memory are sewing themselves back together, and the picture it’s beginning to form- oh, gods. Oh _gods._ What did he do?

“Rex? Rex, can you hear me?” Skywalker. Skywalker’s shaking him by a shoulder, trying to- _no, no, oh gods he tried to kill them, the Son used him like a puppet and he almost shot Tano square in the chest--_

The words spinning through the air outside his head don’t make sense. There’s hands on his arms _claws in his head_ and he’s- he can’t- he can’t- he _can’t--_

_Darkness tearing into him and he can’t think can’t breathe he’s drowning he’s drowning--_

Something smacks into his head, just hard enough to be slightly painful, and the impact either jars something loose or knocks it back into place. He sucks in a deep breath and blinks until his eyes focus. The pressure against his forehead goes away.

...He’s looking into blue eyes. Someone with blue eyes, who’s trailing worry in the wake of their every movement like it’s dense fog. Those eyes narrow slightly in a smiling way, and the worry gets a little lighter.

“Welcome back,” Skywalker sighs. Rex jolts and flinches back- Skywalker lets him, but he can’t tell whether that’s a good sign or a bad one.

He just… he just completely _shut down_ in front of two Jedi Generals and a Commander.

If the earth wants to swallow him up, now would be the perfect time for it, _thanks._

“Perhaps we should help you up when _you’re_ ready,” Kenobi quips. He’s unbelievably grateful for the General’s ability to breeze past things like this.

“...But in all seriousness;” Kenobi kneels down to meet his eyes on his level, finding a place on the ground beside where Skywalker’s sitting. Tano peeks over his shoulder. “Are you alright? You seemed rather... distressed, a moment ago.”

_Distressed._ That’s a word for it.

He’d like to say he’s fine. Just open his mouth, force out three words at most, then change the subject. but… what he did, what happened- he can’t. How does he say it? How does he voice what he did, what he felt?

That was his heartbeat he heard right before he woke up. The silence before it means his heart _wasn’t_ beating. He didn’t have a pulse for half a minute at the least.

“Something happened,” he blurts. “With- the Son. I was…” he can _tell_ someone’s about to interrupt him, so he plows on, “Did I die?”

The Jedi all freeze. It’s an answer whether they mean it to be or not. That really happened. He died.

His heartbeat is drumming in his throat.

“I wasn’t expecting you to remember any of that,” Kenobi finally murmurs. “Now, I don’t want to pressure you, but there won’t ever be a good time to ask…” he lifts his gaze from the ground, meeting Rex’s eyes again. “How _much_ do you remember?”

How much? There’s _so much_ that happened. The dungeon, the Son’s teeth in his neck, the lightsaber and the dagger, all that _hate..._

“I don’t know, exactly,” he forces out. “It was… enough. I remember enough.”

“I see.” Kenobi seems to be about to say more, but then Skywalker cuts in; “ _It wasn’t your fault._ What the Son did to you and made you do wasn’t _you._ ”

“And we won’t hold it against you,” Tano adds. “Promise.”

“She’s right,” Skywalker agrees. “I don’t blame you for anything that happened. It’s not your fault.”

...What does he say to that, though? _Thanks, sirs, for continuing to trust me after I actively tried to kill you? Thanks for not holding it against me, that one time I nearly choked Kenobi to death?_ His memory is still patchy, but he’s pretty sure he’s the _only_ one with a disjointed record of events.

All he can manage is a nod in response.

...There’s another person behind the Jedi, he notes, too overloaded to filter that out as anything less than top-priority important. They’re tall and dressed in heavy-looking robes, face carved with lines that suggest they’re very old. Kenobi looks over his shoulder, seeming to acknowledge them, but they barely even glance at him as they slip past and stand before Rex. The air around them is _heavy,_ settling around over his shoulders and scratching down his armor like it wants to hold him in place. He swallows and braces himself for the fight of scrambling to his feet.

The old person in heavy robes leans down, reaching out a thin and long-fingered hand--

There’s nothing beneath him as it all drops away, and for a moment it’s claws reaching to dig into his skull, then it’s blazing light and then _nothing at all_ and it feels like he’s been wired with static on the inside, feels a buzz beneath his skin that starts to stutter and dwindle out, and it feels an awful lot like something _dying_ -

He’s on his feet, stumbling back a step to balance himself. Standing up wasn’t something he _decided_ to do, but it happened anyway. His head’s spinning.

There’s a set of green-on-black eyes watching him like he’s unusual, a… _curiosity_. _Everyone_ is watching him. The weight of it is sharp, _sharp,_ something hot that wedges itself between his armor and his blacks and crawls over his skin. He’s going to have to explain. He doesn’t _have_ an explanation. This is the second time he’s panicked.

“Perhaps a warning would be appreciated,” Kenobi muses to the old one. Rex coughs, awkwardly. He wants to leave, pull himself together in private, but he doesn’t have an excuse. If he had his helmet then at least he could hide his face… wait. That’s a good enough reason to leave for a few minutes, isn’t it?

“It would, yes,” he struggles to say. “Um. Be appreciated, I mean. ...if you’ll excuse me, sirs? I left my helmet in, uh-” he motions helplessly towards the building looming over them, wishing for Hardcase’s ability to just _talk_ and make it work. “In there.”

“Go get your helmet, Rex,” Skywalker says. “We’ll be by to help you look in a minute. Promise.”

“Don’t die,” Tano advises, “Or get turned to the dark side.” His sense of humor just might be rubbing off on her. He manages a chuckle in return, only slightly less grim than the joke itself was.

“Yessir. I’ll try my best to avoid that.

“ _Do_ or _do not,_ ” Kenobi begins, and Tano groans.

“Rex isn’t a Jedi, Master! He can _try_ and it’s fine.”

They’re all cracking jokes. He’s grateful for the diversion and tension relief, he can say that much.... stars, he needs to- he needs some space. He needs to get his head on straight before someone gets hurt.

Rex squares his shoulders, and marches himself towards the palace’s entrance.

-

The path he needs to find is… _easy_ to find, almost like it _wants_ to be found. It’s an obvious doorway once he’s actually looking, and there’s no secondary doors to obstruct his path.

Maybe the Son just wanted easy access because he liked going down to the dungeon. Seems like something He’d like, spending time relaxing in a _dungeon._ It’s dark, lit by orange light, and that light is roughly as warm as emergency lighting tends to be on a Venetator-class.

...Maybe he should just jinx it aloud, if he’s going to follow that line of thought. _Emergency lighting._ This isn’t an emergency; it’s a vaguely eerie path that he needs to traverse to get his helmet. He’s not leaving it behind on this kriffing _nightmare_ of a planet. It’s just a walk to go get a piece of his armor- an important piece- and a walk back. He’ll probably meet up with the Jedi on the way back to where he last saw them.

The place looks _almost_ exactly the same as he remembers. The light overhead seems dimmer, more desaturated, and it plays odd tricks with the colors of everything it washes over. The blue of his helmet (which is where he _semi-_ recalls it falling (in his defense he was incredibly out of it by that point)) seems less blue and more grey.

Just a trick of the light. The jaig eyes are _blue_. He picks the helmet up and dusts it off, taking in the paint and the dried mud and the new scuffs and scrapes. The mud from his first encounter with the Son, the scuffs from the… _fourth_ encounter, when he took the damn monster- that _ge’hutuun-_ to the ground. His bucket’s been through this whole mess, but it’s overall the same sturdy helmet he came here with.

Yeah, maybe it’s making him a little emotional. It feels like _victory,_ somehow, that he’s come out of _everything_ with the same armor he went into it with...

“So you think you have _won._ ” The voice sends cold heat flashing down his spine, and he whirls to slam back against the wall.

_The Son_ stands with His arms crossed, oozing cool bemusement.

_No._ No, not again. He’d thought-

“I killed you,” he argues. The Son laughs.

“Did you?”

Yes. No. ...He doesn’t know. The darkness cuts in and drowns out his memory there. He knows he put the dagger in His chest, but he doesn’t remember seeing the Son _die._ He’d just- he _assumed,_ somehow, because no one had said anything--

“Oh, Captain,” the monster sighs. “It’s never that simple. No.... you see, you were _Mine._ ” It takes a step forward, baring its teeth and looking less humanoid by the second. _No, no, stay away-_ “You _are_ and will _always_ be Mine.” Rex presses back further against the wall, moving along it as if he can somehow outrun or escape or fight the thing bearing down on him. The Son just follows, and Rex notes the same three rows of very sharp teeth as He hisses;

“Darkness has claimed you. You will not escape My grasp.”

The monster lunges, and Rex drops his helmet to throw his hands out helplessly as if it will do _anything_ , closing his eyes against what he knows is coming. He’s alone without backup and no one will save him.

His palms strike something and light flashes behind his eyelids, and the force of the impact knocks him onto his back.

...Nothing. Nothing sweeps him up into its clutches, nothing sinks its teeth into his neck or its claws into his mind, no pain or darkness swallows him whole. He’s still breathing and he’s still _Rex._

He opens his eyes again.

The Son has- He’s doubled in on Himself, white sparks dancing over his skin. Those sparks seem to light him up from the inside... then He _dissolves,_ losing shape, bursting into mist that falls silently to the floor and swirls in on itself. It spins like the arms of a spiral galaxy.

Stars. What just happened? Is he hallucinating?

Rex carefully rises to his feet. ...The mist rises with him, twisting and coiling up as if a mirror to his movement, taking a shape that seems almost humanoid.

_What?_

No, what- what the hell. What the _hell._ That’s _his_ armor. That’s _his_ armor he’s staring at, a perfect double down to the tally mark, except it’s _not_ perfect because it’s _grey_ instead of blue. He staggers back and draws his blaster. The- the _thing_ in _his armor but wrong_ holds up its hands, helmeted head tilting. It looks like it’s amused, if he’s reading his own damn body language right.

The grey jaig eyes catch the orange light. ...This thing looks more in place here than the man it’s taken the shape of. He stands out as something foreign. It doesn’t.

“What _are_ you?” He demands. It tilts its head farther, and- yeah, that extra angle is _definitely_ sarcastic, kark him and kark all of this because he’s seen that look on _himself_ in the odd holovid his men have taken. It’s exactly the motion he did, that one time Skywalker told Kix there couldn’t be any bleeding, because all his blood was definitely inside, where it was _supposed_ to be.

The General was so kriffing concussed.

But that’s beside the point. There’s a… a _not-_ Rex staring him down with his own helmet’s markings on its bucket. And it replies in a _brother’s_ voice, tinged with that edge of slightly-Tatooinian-slightly-Coruscanti that the 501st tend to pick up; “You have _eyes._ What does it look like?”

It looks- it _looks_ like-

“I’m _you._ Now put the blaster _down,_ soldier; you’re in no shape to be holding a weapon with the safety off.”

The voice is so much like his, in the exact tone he uses to talk himself down when he’s upset, that for a moment his hands dip to obey.

He jerks the blaster back up.

“Not until you give me some kriffing _answers._ ”

“You won’t like them.” He rests his finger on the trigger guard.

“Try me.”

Not-Rex sighs, shoulders rising and falling in an exaggerated motion. “Alright.” The helmet shifts to focus the visor fully on him. Rex holds the staring contest. “To answer your questions… yeah, you’re defective.”

He can’t quite stop himself from flinching. That’s _not_ what he was asking, and this thing has the nerve to use _his_ voice to say it-

“ _You’re defective,_ ” his copy continues, slow and clear, “and you have been since the day you were decanted. All those deviations you actually worry about will be worse now, after what happened with the Son. It’s not going to be easy to hide it from your superiors.”

His hands are shaking. He lowers his blaster, because other-him was _right_ about the state he’s in. Rex-but-not- _Rex_ strolls closer. He manages to hiss, “I wasn’t asking _that._ ”

“You wouldn’t ask it out loud,” it replies. His voice- _its_ voice is level, as if this is a briefing and someone has asked about an alternate route to their destination. “But you’ve been thinking it. To answer _another_ question…” he’s pinned, feet frozen to the floor by the gaze of something whose eyes he can’t even _see._ “He did something to you. What happened back there was _real,_ and what happened _counts._ The Son used you as a puppet, and yeah you’ve been stitched back together, but you’re _different_ now. Something’s different. You don’t know what, but you can feel it...”

His heartbeat is loud in his ears. Not-him leans in. “...And you’re scared.”

_He’s not--_

“ _Kark_ you,” he gasps, and shoves the thing away. It gives a few paces- just enough space to breathe.

“You’re doing a shit job of pretending you’re not,” his own voice observes. His double lowers itself to the ground, criss-crossing its legs and propping an elbow on its knee. “It’s okay to be scared, you know. This isn’t Kamino.”

“Easy for _you_ to say,” he snaps. Not-Rex blows out a long breath, leaning back slightly.

“Sure is. It’s just as easy for _you_ to say, too…” _Stupid_ joke. It’s not funny. It’s- Forcedamned _obvious,_ is what it is. Anything it can say he _could_ physically say, sure. But the damn thing- “Slow down. What are you feeling right now?”

He-

What is he _feeling_? Sure, what the hell. What’s he feeling.

He’s feeling angry, that this copy of him thinks it can just use his own voice against him while it spews shit. He’s _feeling_ like he’d be happy to punch that bucket off their head, if the opportunity presents itself.

...He _feels_ like they’re _right,_ right about every word they’ve said, but what does he say in return? What does he do? He _feels_ ragged and flayed open on the inside, like those frayed threads he was made of earlier have rubbed and left scars that aren’t even fully _healed_ into scars yet.

He _feels_ that-- even though he knows he looks the same as ever-- there’s something visibly _different_ about him now, and that the Jedi will notice. And once the Jedi notice, it’s only a matter of time before the news hits the wrong ears...

When someone on _Kamino_ hears-

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by movement in his vision; his double very intentionally pats the ground across from themself, making more noise than they should be able to with just their palm on stone. “...That’s enough. Come sit down. You’re not going to help anything by going there.”

...He obeys the command without thinking much of it, dropping to the ground and bowing his head while he tries to collect himself.

Just- _stop._ Breathe. It’s almost funny; his voice when he talks himself down from _inside_ his head sounds just the same as his voice telling him to take a breather from _outside_ his head. The room’s quiet at the moment, at least, giving the illusion of solitude. He takes a deep breath, in and out, and focuses for a moment on the weight of his pauldron, his armor in general. Next breath, on the stone under his fingertips as he rests a hand on the ground. The air smells faintly of ozone. It’s a familiar scent.

“What are you after?” He asks, once he’s pulled the pieces of himself back into the same shape he started in. The connections still feel loose, like he’s more fragile than he wants to be. “And why do you have to look like _me_ for it?”

“All due respect? The answer’s literally right in front of you.” Oh. That’s his _‘I’ve been asked an obvious question by a superior’_ tone, the one he only uses in the safety of his own head. “I _am_ you.” He doesn't have a response to that, so he keeps his head down and listens to the way other-Rex sighs. Their voice is softer, when they next speak;

“You’ll have to face this sooner or later. It’ll be better if you get it out of the way now, before you hurt yourself by ignoring it. After all, it, uh, can’t get much worse than this;” there’s a pause, where he imagines them motioning to the situation as a whole: “you’re already talking to yourself.”

“I’m losing my mind.”

“Hm. You might be,” other-him chuckles. He looks up, and tracks the movement of the grey-painted helmet as it turns to look at where _his_ helmet is on the ground. They hold out their hand...

And with barely more movement than a breath his helmet goes flying from the ground towards them. They catch it, at the same moment he jerks back in surprise.

He sputters, “You shouldn’t-”

“You _can,_ ” they state. They turn his bucket over, inspect it, brush something off the visor. “Don’t you remember doing something like that?”

He pulled Tano along with nothing but his own mind and a whole lot of anger, yeah, he remembers that.

“That was the _Son._ ”

“What the Son did wasn’t temporary.”

“But I’m a clone,” he argues, “We’re not-”

“What about Fives?”

He freezes.

“You _know_ Fives isn’t what the long-necks would call normal. And they’re not the only one.” They tilt their head to look at him. “...What was it you were going to say?”

He was going to say- shit. _Shit._ He’s backed himself into a corner. Or was it other-him who backed him into it? Does the difference _matter_?

“Spit it out.”

_Dammit._ His double is testing the motion of his viewfinder. It moves exactly as it should, clicking in and out of position. He curls his fingers in, clenching his hands into fists, then forces his shoulders into less of a tense line.

“Clones aren’t meant to have the Force,” he finally confesses. Other-Rex hums, sounding amused.

“That’s it. The _Force.”_ The viewfinder clicks back into upright position. “Captain Rex, Five-oh-First, second in command to General Skywalker…” they catch his eye, and he’s frozen yet again. “And _Force-sensitive._ ”

And-

And he’s- he _can’t._ That’s not something he could ever be, not something he could do. It’s impossible. He doesn’t- no, he _doesn’t._ It’s _impossible._ There’s no way this is real. He’s just having a really weird dream, and soon he’s going to wake up to find he passed out on the floor. He’ll get up off the floor after he wakes up, retrieve his helmet, and go on his way again like _none of this is real_ because it _isn’t_ because it _can’t be_ so it’s _not._

“Hey. You’re doing it again. _Breathe._ ”

Oh. Yeah. He’s… spiraling again. He takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, then blows out some of the tension curled up in his chest. It helps.

“Better.” His double sits back, tossing his helmet in the air and catching it before turning it to face him. “And I’m going to bet you want your helmet back.”

No _shit_ he wants his helmet back. “Gambling and betting are illegal in the GAR,” he deadpans, and earns a chuckle for his troubles.

“It’s a shame your eyesight isn’t what it used to be,” they lament, following the tangent he set up. “Utterly blind to all forms of harmless fun, even when they’re right in front of you. How will the Republic ever know your men are breaking the rules?” Alright, it’s funny. He inclines his head and smiles.

“A real tragedy.”

Other-Rex makes another bemused sound, then returns to other, more important topics; “Alright, enough joking. You can take your helmet back.”

Rex sighs as he moves to get up-- but with a wave of their hand, other-him knocks him right back to sitting on the ground. He narrows his eyes. “You said I can take my helmet back.”

“I did. Go on;” they hold it up, tilting their head as they do so. It’s a challenge. “Take it back.”

He tries again. They knock him back again. “I _can’t_ if you won’t let me up.”

“Sure you can. We just established that _you can._ ” ...Oh. Oh, he means- _shabuir._ Bantha fodder. “What’s the matter, trooper?”

“What do you expect me to _do_?” He demands, just shy of growling. “Sit here with my eyes closed like a Jedi?” They jerk slightly at the question.

“ _Are_ you a Jedi?” It’s karking obvious he’s _not._ But other-him leans in, voice pitched like _he’s_ the one being unreasonable, “ _Are you a Jedi, Captain?_ ”

“No! I’m not!”

“Then why is your first thought to try to act like you are?!”

_What-_

Oh, for- come _on._ Sith hells. He groans. “Can you be straightforward? Call it a favor?”

“S’not _my_ fault your head’s a damn mess,” they sigh. “I can only be as straightforward as your thoughts are.” How _helpful._ They sigh. “Head in the game, soldier. Your helmet.”

_Ugh._ If this is a stress dream, it’s one of the weirdest stress dreams he’s had in his _life,_ and it’s likely the most annoying. At least the friendly fire nightmares make sense in terms of his brain trying to process concepts like ‘what if you shot your superior officers.’ This ‘what if you fought with your own self and also had the Force’ scenario? Bullshit.

Whatever. He holds out a hand, and… what’s he supposed to do, really? Is he supposed to _feel_ something? It _feels_ like he’s sitting here with his hand held out, and looking stupid because nothing is happening. He tries imagining his helmet flying to his hand, or at least floating slowly through the air. ...Nothing. Wiggling his fingers only serves to make him look _more_ ridiculous; he’s clueless and has no skill at this, and it shows. At least he’s not being laughed at by his double...

...Hm. There’s- there’s something there. _Something,_ like strings about his fingers, and he tugs at it without actually moving his hand. His helmet wobbles. That did something?

He curls his fingers in, pulling at the maybe-strings(?), and his helmet shoots from other-Rex’s grasp--

And it hits him square in the nose.

_Now_ his double is laughing at him. He swears and fumbles to pick his bucket up.

“It’s a learned skill,” other-Rex informs him. He grumbles a strangled sound in the back of his throat and blinks hard to counteract how his eyes are watering.

Once his initial pain has faded, he grumbles more and checks the _blue_ jaig eyes on his helmet again before he looks up. Other-him has gotten up ( _silently,_ which is only a little unsettling), and they step forward to hold out a hand.

Are there rules for making contact with someone who’s a literal perfect double of you? Are there rules about it, and are there rules specifically for when the whole thing is either a dream or utter Force bullshit? If there _are_ rules, it would be easy to imagine _don’t do it_ as rule number one, or at least number two.

Still, he was never briefed with that list, so it’s all pure conjecture; he takes their hand and lets them pull him up.

Their hand’s not remarkably cold, nor scaldingly hot, and their grip is firm but not uncomfortably tight. They seem _normal_ as a whole, and somehow that makes them even more strange. The only _actually_ strange thing is that they haven’t let go yet as they sigh. “A word of advice?” He tilts his head, about to ask what it is- when they swing him around.

His back collides with the wall, and he’s crowded against the stone with a forearm barred across his throat and the other bracketing him in. No space to slip free. He shouts and tries to push them back- but his attempts don’t _do_ anything. They don’t budge.

“He wasn’t just spouting lies, Captain,” they say, low and hissed like a warning, and this is a _hell_ of a 180 turn, “when the Son said he wasn’t about to let you go.” They lean further in and it’s like pushing against a transport, trying to make them move. They’re either much heavier or much stronger than he is. He can’t get them out of his space.

“ _Someday_ ,” they continue, “Letting your hatred take over is going to seem appealing. You’ll be angry or scared and you’ll _miss_ having that demagolka in your head, because it was awful but you felt _invincible._ ”

They’re beginning to cut off his air but struggling is useless, so he’s left clinging to their arm. “You’re going to have to choose whether you want to give in to that hatred or not, and it’s going to be _hard_. Then, whatever your choice is, you’ll still have to make it again later. And then _again._ Are you ready for that?” _Is he ready-_ oh, kark them.

“Why’s that matter?” He grits out. “I don’t-” it’s hard to take a deep breath-- “Don’t get to just _drop_ this. I’ll _have_ to be ready.”

They pause.

Then, they let up on the pressure. He sucks in a gasp of air, and leans his head back against the wall. _Kriff._

“You make a good point,” not-him says, almost casual now. “You’ll have to do it. You _will_ because it needs to be done.” Their arm falls from its place pressed against his throat, and instead they put that hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Are you paying attention?”

He looks back at them despite his better judgement. They lean in, and knock their helmet against his forehead with just enough force that he blinks reflexively. It says, if they’re using the gesture like Rex does (and why _wouldn’t_ they), _you’re tiring to deal with sometimes but I’d face a tank for you anyway._ “You’ll be okay. Follow your instincts; they won’t lead you wrong.”

“You’d know that, wouldn’t you,” he manages. They hum. He can’t actually see his reflection in their visor, but he also can’t see their eyes.

“Yeah, I sure would. Jate’kara, Rex.” They finally step away, and nod to his helmet in his hand. “You earned that, you know.” He rolls his eyes.

“Damn well _hope_ I earned it,” he sighs (and they laugh at that), and finally moves to put the bucket back on his head.

When he wakes up, he’s on the floor.

...Huh. So that _was_ a dream?

The light filtering in from overhead seems less orange and more grey, he notes. The blue of his armor matches a little better with the light.

No, if he’s trusting his instincts like advised, that was… _weird,_ but not a weird _dream._ It really happened.

...He’s sore. He’s sore roughly- oh, _everywhere,_ stiff like when he was a little over 9 and starting ARC training. But ironically enough, taking an unplanned nap on the floor seems to have helped somewhere; he feels less stripped on the inside, less like a downed shuttle that scavengers have taken apart for the internal wiring and mechanisms.

As he’s standing up, he hears footsteps shuffle from the vicinity of the door. Then, a voice that sounds like Skywalker’s; “Rex! You okay?”

He turns. Skywalker, Tano, and Kenobi behind the two. “Fine, sir.” It’s the truth, he thinks. “Everything alright?”

“All’s well,” Kenobi says. “We finished speaking with the Father, and came to find you.” It must have been a few minutes, at least. Longer than he should have taken. Someone’s concern whines in his ears like miswired electricals.

(Since when did he _hear_ people being worried? ...Whatever, he’s tired.)

“You _sure_ you’re okay?” Tano asks. He looks to her, and nods.

“I’m alright, I promise. No injuries to report.” That whining won’t go away. He bites back a sigh and continues, level and neutral, “Are we cleared to leave?”

“ _I’m_ ready to leave,” Skywalker groans.

“The sooner the better,” Tano agrees. Kenobi chuckles.

“Perhaps we’re all of one mind here. I’ll lead the way.”

The Jedi start back towards the exit. Rex checks over his shoulder, just to be safe, before he follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been waiting to share parts of this chapter since I started posting, pretty much!! I'm hoping it's been an enjoyable read.
> 
> Also, I'm hitting the end of my backlog for this work, so I'm going to take a break from weekly posting! I'll be back, of course, once I've given myself some extra wiggle room for editing and posting. Thank you for your patience, and thanks so much for reading to this point!!!


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